


Brothers

by chocolafied



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hetalia: Axis Powers, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Multi, Other, chocolafied, repost from fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolafied/pseuds/chocolafied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has known his uncle Alfred Jones ever since he could remember. He was always there for him, even when no one else was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nativity

**Author's Note:**

> "A new baby is like the beginning of all things - wonder, hope, a dream of possibilities." - Eda J Le Shan

It was 1920, the Fourth of July, and Alfred F. Jones, an American representative, was running past people while making his way through Brooklyn, New York. It was an important occasion, almost as much as his own birthday to say the least. Well…it  _was_  his birthday. Driving was pointless. Running was faster due to the lack of driving space. The crowded and congested streets continued to play their obnoxious cacophony of a symphony of shouts and cars honking, only to flare up more when Alfred ran in front of them, cutting them off or shooting right past them, making them drop a thing or two due to the sudden surprise.

"Damn it, I'm gonna be late," he grumbled, almost finished with tying his tie around his neck. His fingers fumbled about as he ran, tying the cloth into a perfect bow. His irises dilated for a split second before he dropped down to the ground in his suit, barely dodging a pair of movers carrying a sofa into the back of a truck. He felt the light brown hairs at the apex of his head brush ever so lightly against the wooden board underneath the piece of furniture. His eyes glanced upwards for a second before he leaped forward, taking off in full sprint once more in his now well worn-in leather shoes.

The high noon sun that lit up the sky above him seemed to taunt him as his eyes burned from the glare of his glasses. Alfred attempted to block out the sun somewhat with his hand, still running and now panting heavily.

He kept running along E. 34th street.

_210…211…212…Wait a minute..!_

He ran right past the apartment complex, 212. The leather soles skidding to a stop on the pavement. His body pivoted as he tried to turn himself around…only, he couldn't stop right away as he hoped. With his body leaning back as much as it was, it was only natural to the laws of gravity that he would go tumbling back and land flat on his butt. But hey, this is Alfred F. Jones we're talking about! He didn't land on his arse, but...it  _was_  a close call.

Flailing his arms like he was trying to fly while shouting, scared out of his mind at that moment, Alfred tried as hard as humanly possible to stay balanced on his leather clad feet…with not too much success. He was rocking back and forth, imitating a rocking horse almost. He then puffed his cheeks and furrowed his eyebrows, leaning forward and then planting one foot completely on the concrete ground.

At that moment, one could say he was imitating a figure skater, the way his arms and leg were up in the air. Sighing heavily, Alfred slowly lowered his limbs and relaxed his muscles, standing upright while buttoning up his suit jacket.

"Phew, that was a close one there!" he noted. His happy eyes then looked up and scaled the building, resting on one of the windows in the 6th row. "Hope I didn't miss it." And with that, Alfred started off again, darting up the steps and then jerking the door open to step inside the apartment complex.

* * *

A baby's wails could be heard. A dirty blonde woman with happy and tired eyes held her baby while lying in bed, smiling down at the little bundle of joy that was wrapped in a small washcloth. Alfred rushed to the doorway, almost missing it and once again skidding to a stop with his hand on the wooden doorframe for support, panting heavily and hunched over with one blue eye more open than the other and his other hand on his dark brown pant leg.

She looked up, her smile fading lightly when she saw him.

"Mr. Jones?"

Alfred straightened up, now in control of his breathing. A big smile now plastered his face and his eyes gleamed. He nodded.

"Mrs. Rogers?"

She nodded, staring at Alfred for a moment before looking down at her newborn child, rocking the bundle back and forth lightly. After a few seconds, the baby stopped crying. Alfred stared from the doorway for a moment, completely awed. He watched as she shushed the baby lightly, a bright smile still on her face. The doctor, who was by the window with his leather bag on a wooden table stood as he packed the last of his equipment away into the baggage. The semi-bald man took the stethoscope from around his neck and slowly and gently placed it in his bag. He then snapped the bag shut before grabbing the leather handle and picking up his round had from the wooden surface.

He turned, his dark brown eyes that glistened of old age and a bit of joy shifted to look at the new mother. "Ma'am." He lightly bowed his head, still holding his hat in his hand by the top of it by his shoulder. The mother lightly bowed her head to him.

"Thank you doctor," she spoke, a hint of tiredness crept in the words.

"No trouble at all." Those were the last words he uttered to the woman before he placed his hat atop his head and made his way out the door, bag at hand. The doctor stopped at the doorway. He turned to Alfred and spoke to him in a low voice, "The father of that child is very lucky." His smile widened slightly before he turned to leave.

Alfred blinked at him, the smile fading from his face as he registered the words. "Yeah," he sighed. The doctor turned out into the hallway and left. Alfred was now staring at his worn shoes, the words weighing on his conscious like lead. The child's father, Joseph Rogers, he had pneumonia. Never got over it. Sarah, his wife, was about six months pregnant. He and Joe were good friends, no doubt about it. The two met in a coffee shop, back a few years ago in 1916.

* * *

_Alfred sipped his morning coffee while reading the newspaper._

**BRITISH SUFFER MORE CASSULTIES**

_He sighed and threw the paper down onto the counter top, not bothering to read the rest. The meetings weren't going too well. Germany refused to lighten up or stop this nonsense. The war was basically pointless. Men, women, and children were all dying because of Germany's_  nonsense.  _It baffled him. Sure, he was the type that would rather tell a joke, but really, in this situation, who_ wouldn't _? Germany made it quite clear that he was._

_Once again, he sighed, taking another sip of his straight black coffee._

_"Sir, I'm asking you nicely. Pay up_ now _!"_

_Alfred stopped reading, still holding the coffee cup to his face but not drinking its contents. His blue eyes behind the spectacles that he wore shifted to the right. He saw a distressed man with light brown hair and a waitress standing by the doorway of the café. The man was nervously sweating by his temple, he wore a pair of suspenders and a colored white shirt that was slightly stained around his sleeves that were rolled up to the elbow and he wore some slightly stained trousers and old and worn leather shoes._

_"Look, I-"_

_"No excuses! This is the second time this week that you aren't paying!" the waitress cut in, waving a finger while chiding him. "You have a job, don't you?"_

_"Yes, but-"_

_Alfred continued to watch the scene, sitting at the counter a few stools away from the two. He slowly put his coffee cup back down on its saucer._

_"Then, no buts!" the waitress and man were now catching the eyes of most, if not all of the customers, which were mostly men around the man's age. "Now. Pay. Up."_

_The man gulped. Alfred got up and walked over, unknown by the quarrelling two by the door. He placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "May I ask what this is about?" he interjected, wearing a small smile on his face as he looked the waitress in the eye. The waitress blinked at him for a second or two before regaining her composure._

_"This man refuses to pay his bill." She pointed to the man, who was looking at Alfred, worried somewhat. Alfred lightly cocked an eyebrow._

_"Really?" he asked. The man looked at the waitress_

_"Yes!" the maid shouted. "Can you please throw him out for me?" she pointed to the door over her shoulder with her thumb. Alfred sighed lightly as he removed his hand from the man's shoulder. The man in turn looked at Alfred once more, now somewhat scared, especially since Alfred stood a good few inches taller than him and had a wider build._

_"I see. And how much was the bill?" he asked, reaching into his pocket._

_"About a dollar," she answered, not noticing what he was doing._

_"Well then," Alfred pulled out two coins from his wallet, both of them half-dollar ones. "I believe this should cover it." He lightly took the waitress' hand and opened it, giving her the coins. The brown haired woman's eyes shifted rapidly between her hand and Alfred's face._

_"W-What?"_

_The man stared at Alfred, wide eyed. He didn't expect this in the least. The waitress kept silent, opening her hand slightly to gaze down at the half dollars before running off to the cash register._

_The man turned to Alfred. "I-I don't know how to thank you," he spoke, smiling lightly and nervously. Alfred in turn smiled back brightly and widely._

_"Don't worry about it, Dude!" he laughed out loud while hitting his back lightly, reassuring him, or at least_ trying  _to. "By the way," he stopped laughing, looking down at the man slightly while still smiling. "The name's Alfred. Alfred Jones." He held his hand out._

_The man looked down before smirking lightly. "Joseph Rogers, nice to meet you." He grabbed Alfred's hand. They shook hands firmly, looking each other in the eye. And that's how their friendship began…_

* * *

The mother's light laughter snapped him back to reality. His head snapped up, his eyes that were sad, they now contained some sort of joy from looking at the mother and her child being together. His hand slowly slid down from the wooden doorframe. He slowly walked inside with a small smile spread across his lips. Sarah looked up at him, smiling tiredly. "Would you like to hold him?"

The question took the country representative back. He stared with his bright blue eyes at the baby before staring at its mother who continued to smile and held the bundle a little closer to him, encouraging him to take it. Alfred smiled lightly and carefully took the bundle from the woman, smiling down at it. The baby opened its blue eyes and stared up tiredly at Alfred. Sarah sat up in bed with her hands on her laps, looking up at the two as Alfred held her child.

* * *

_Joseph lied in bed, every second that he had left ticking right by him, and he knew it. Sarah and Alfred sat by his bedside, her trying ever so hard to blink back tears and him staring at him sadly. Death was inevitable, and all three of them knew it. The Irish man turned his head, seeing his close friend and wife sit by him with tired dull eyes._

_"Sarah," he weakly spoke. His wife, who was looking down at her stomach, shot her head up, her brown eyes filled with surprise, then narrowing slightly when she saw her husband slowly and weakly raise a skinny hand to her face, touching it ever so lightly. "Why don't you go make something for Alfred?" Sarah grabbed his hand and brought it to her face, nodding her head before she turned it and kissed his knuckles lightly. Slowly she got up and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her._

_Joseph's dull brown eyes turned to Alfred, studying his friend for a moment. Alfred did likewise, wondering what Joe wanted to say to him. "Hey, Alfred..." the man's quiet and weak voice spoke, fading out._

_"Yeah?" the light brown haired man sitting beside Joe asked, looking at him with uneasy eyes._

_"I want you...to promise me something..." Joe was starting to grow tired, he could tell. He wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes that stared at the white ceiling above him, but he fought to keep them open. His breathing was becoming slower._

_"Anything," Alfred replied in a quiet voice, knowing what this meant._

_"Be there for my kid, will ya?" He looked at his friend that sat in the chair with the back of it facing him, legs straddling either side. Alfred's eyes widened slightly for a moment, letting the words sink in. He swallowed lightly before grimly nodding._

_Joseph smiled tiredly at him before closing his eyes. His breathing stopped. Alfred didn't realize this at first, though. He was staring down at the floor. He then looked back up._

_"Hey, Joe," he spoke, wanting to ask him something. No reply. His light blue eyes widened greatly, his pupils small dots in his irises. And it just so happened that the door opened and Sarah walked in with a cup of coffee in her hands. She stood, smiling softly for a moment before she read Alfred's still somewhat shocked expression and her husband's sleeping face...Sleeping face..._

_The coffee cup and saucer dropped to the ground, shattering and brown liquid spilling onto the bedroom floor._

* * *

"What's its name?" he asked in a low, quiet voice. He stared at the newborn's face, slightly saddened. He really did look like his father...

She sighed lightly. "Steve," she answered him, still smiling.

"Steve, huh…" A small smile crept onto his face unconsciously. He liked the name. He liked it a lot. There was something about this kid that drew him in, something special. The baby smiled widely back at him. Something told him that he liked him too.


	2. Firework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fly free and happy beyond birthdays across forever, an we'll meet now and then when we wish,  
> in the midst of one celebration that never can end." - Richard Bach

~*~ ** _Eight Years Later; July 4th 1930_** ~*~

A baseball was caught by a leather baseball mitt. Little Steve, now eight years old with a baseball cap too big on his head, reached his right hand over into the mitt to fish the baseball out of his left hand's grip. He took the ball and pulled his arm back, raising his hand into the air. He threw the ball a good fifteen feet before it hit another leather mitt, this one belonging to Alfred, who had a smirk on his face and had on a New York Yankees jersey top with a baseball cap also on his person while wearing a pair of dark brown bell bottom trousers with a pair of sneakers.

"Nice one!" Alfred commented with a smirk of satisfaction on his face. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. The sun in Central Park was at four in the afternoon, letting its warmth and heat shine down at all the people in the park in the summer afternoon. It was the Fourth of July, once again their birthdays; and also the eighth anniversary of their first meeting. Ever since Steve could remember, this is how he spent his birthdays, with his favorite and only Uncle Alfred, who ironically had the same birthday as him. Truth be told, he wouldn't have it any other way really.

The boy giggled at his comment, smirking lightly. Alfred pitched the ball back to his nephew who thought of him more as a father now. Steve put the mitt in front of his face with the palm facing the ball, getting ready to catch it. A second later, the ball landed in the boy's hand and he closed it, ensuring its stay inside the leather mitt. "Hey, Uncle Alfred," the blonde boy started, obviously wanting to ask him something. He adjusted his hat so that it blocked out the sun and that he could somewhat see. The boy took the ball out of his mitt and threw it back to Alfred.

"What's up?" Alfred asked the boy as his eyes followed the slightly beaten up baseball that was soaring through the air until it landed inside his mitt. His blue eyes then focused on the boy in his care.

"When are we getting hot dogs and hamburgers?"

Alfred laughed a little before he threw the ball back. "Soon, Bro," he answered. Steve couldn't help but smile along as he caught the ball.

* * *

The two sat on a rock in the shade of the leafy trees, watching the other people in the park.

"So, you havin' a fun time, Dude?" Alfred asked, looking down at Steve before taking a bite out of his hamburger.

"Yeah," Steve took a bite into his hot dog that had squiggly line of ketchup going down it, some resting on the bun. "It's nice here." He spoke between chews. America blew air out of his nose in an amused way. His mouth was stuffed with cooked hamburger and bun. Alfred picked up the glass bottle filled with Coca Cola soda, flicked off the cap with the rock's surface, and then took a large gulp of it, swallowing hard.

"That's good. I'm glad." Alfred sighed, staring out into the horizon. The sun was starting to set in the distance. "How's things with your mom?"

"Alright, I guess," Steve answered, bringing up the chewed hot dog to take another bite. America glanced at him before taking another swig of his cold soda. "How're the World Meetings going?"

Alfred stared at the eight year old for a brief moment before continuing to stare at the sun that was more behind the tree line than it was a few minutes ago. "Pretty good, I guess. A lot of people are still angry at this country though." He chuckled.

Steve looked up at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. "What'ya mean?" The sky was starting to show the faintest signs of gold peeking through the blue sky on the tree-covered horizon. Without looking at him, Mr. Jones let out a long and exasperated sigh.

"It's complicated, but," the representative turned to look at his nephew. "A lot of people have bitter feeling towards the US for getting involved in the war. I'll just leave it at that." The light brown haired man shoved the last of the burger in his mouth and drank some more cola. Steve continued to stare at him for a moment. He let his light blue eyes drift around, observing the large rock below them which they were sitting on, his sneakers, and the now multi-colored sky. He sighed lightly.

There was a silence for a few minutes as they finished up dinner.

"You think I could get in?" He looked back up at his uncle, waiting for a response as he chewed one of the last bites of his hot dog.

Alfred froze and slowly turned his head to look at the boy. He was utterly and completely shocked. He studied Steve. The boy's always had medical problems. Asthma, High Blood Pressure, Heart Failure, it seemed like if you named it, he has or had it. His eyes narrowed, not judgingly though. The discomfort of the topic was apparent in the man's face. He lightly chewed his lip, his light blue eyes looking down for a moment.

Steve was starting to worry if he made him angry or anything of the sort. He wasn't talking. This  _wasn't_  like him. Normally, Uncle Al would be chatty, hyperactive, and maybe  _crazy_  even…but not like  _this_.

Alfred sighed, looking back up at his nephew with still saddened eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.  _So he wasn't angry after all…_  Steve mentally sighed. He gulped lightly, still staring back at his uncle.

"We'll see. Let's worry about this later on," The man wearing the spectacles looked towards the sunset. The sky was now a clash between bronze, scarlet, and magenta with the setting star slowly diminishing. Alfred then looked back at the birthday boy. "But for now, we've got a birthday to celebrate." He winked at his nephew, who in turn looked away, smiling again.

"Two, Uncle Al." Steve spoke, now watching the sun disappear. "Two."

The representative chuckled, closing his eyes and tilting his head down, amused by the boy's come back. He then looked over to his side, picking up a ruffled brown paper bag. Hearing the noise, Steve turned his head to investigate, only to see Uncle Al holding up a paper bag with what looked like a fire work sticking out the mouth of the bag. The boy's face immediately brightened up.

* * *

"You ready, kid?" Alfred asked Steve, crouched down by the fireworks holding a book of matches in his hands, staring up at the kid. He was probably just excited as the child right by him. The boy nodded.

"Definitely," Steve confidently replied, enough energy in his body to probably run across the park and back. He was  _definitely_  excited and could barely control himself. Alfred chuckled lightly before ripping out a match from the book and striking it on the wooden beam that was holding up the firework. The match lit in a split second, one split second followed by the sound of it igniting. The two were alone in the park. The Fourth of July fireworks were already over. People were home, having to go to work if they had any due to the bad economy and children would go to school tomorrow. No one else was there. It was just them.

Uncle Alfred held the match by the fuse, sparing one last glance at his nephew. Steve stared at the match curiously and anxiously. Realizing that he stopped moving the match closer to the fuse a moment later, his pale blue eyes shifted upwards to look at his uncle. Alfred smiled at him. "Happy birthday, kid."

Steve smiled back warmly. The baseball cap slid down, covering his eyes. At this, the little boy frowned while his uncle just chuckled and snickered lightly before he adjusted the baseball cap on his head so that it didn't block his vision. The boy's hands went to the cap, holding it on his head as Alfred pulled his hand back, still holding the lit match in the air. "Happy birthday to you too, Uncle Alfred," he spoke, forgetting about the fireworks for a second. Alfred's smile grew bigger.

He cared for Steve like a son. He was there to pick up the child from his first day of school, took him out every weekend or every other, stopped by when he was in the neighborhood with surprise gifts such as books, the baseball cap that he was wearing right now, and took him to see a few Yankees games here and there. And neither of them would have it any other way.

The fuse burned down slowly as the sizzling sound followed suit. Alfred and Steve watched the rope burn, excited and impatiently waiting for the fireworks to take off from its wooden stand. It was a few seconds later, but the fuse finally burned down. Uncle Al cautiously pulled back the little boy a few steps and told him to cover his ears. One firework took off, soaring into the sky while leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. About fifty feet or so into the pitched black nighttime sky, it erupted. Small blue lights scattered about in the air, forming a small flower-like shape before fading away a few seconds later.

Steve watched, smiling widely with his mouth agape and watching the display. The blue lights illuminated the two's faces. Alfred was also looking at the firework erupt, a big smirk on his face as he looked at the sky. Another firework took off, followed by another. They exploded after flying a good distance from the ground to the air. Red and white sparks expanded, and Steve giggled, holding up a sparkler as he ran around with it without a care in the world. Alfred put on his leather bomber jacket, now feeling the effects of the cool summer night. He looked down from the firework display to observe his nephew, who was still running around in circles, still giggling and laughing all the while.

"Hey, Uncle Alfred! Look at me!" Steve shouted while still laughing from his own amusement, running around all the while. Alfred couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Awesome, dude!" the uncle complimented him, shoving his hands into his pockets. Alfred looked up once more, memories of their time together floating around in his head at the current moment. They probably could wake up the whole neighborhood, but neither of them could have cared at the moment.

* * *

The pair couldn't help but laugh. Alfred had his arm on Steve's back, holding his mitt under his other arm that had its hand shoved inside the leather jacket's pocket. Steve looked up at him, still laughing slightly while still wearing his oversized baseball cap, holding the baseball mitt and ball with his two small hands. The representative walked his nephew down the narrow hallway corridor, almost reaching their destination. The two stopped, standing in front of the apartment door:  _144_.

Alfred knocked. There was no answer at first though. He looked down at the boy, who in turn looked back up at him. Alfred looked back at the door, raising his hand to knock on the wooden door of apartment 144 once more. His hand was about an inch from contacting the wood when the lock unlatched and the door opened. Sarah stood, holding the door open with her hand resting it. She first saw Alfred and then looked down, seeing her eight year old son standing next to him.

"Mommy!" Steve dropped his baseball mitt and ball leaped towards his mother, his arms encircling her waist. His mother was at first surprised, but her arms instinctively surrounded the boy's head, her hands resting on his upper back. A warm and tired smile crept onto her face. She would never get tired of seeing her son like that. She then remembered that Alfred was still standing there. The immigrant mother raised her head, still smiling. Alfred too shared the facial expression as he looked at them.

"Thank you for taking care of him," she spoke. Alfred blinked and then laughed nervously, closing his eyes before raising his arm to rub the back of his neck.

"It was no trouble at all!" he insisted. "We had a good time."

Steve's mother bent down, her hands sliding from her son's back to his shoulders. "Did we now?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. Steve nodded, smiling widely. His mother's eyes softened. "Why don't you get ready for bed, okay?"

The boy's smile faded lightly, but he nodded his head. "Okay." Steve picked up his baseball and leather mitt before running inside the apartment to get ready to go to sleep. Sarah turned her head, still crouching as she watched him run off with her warm brown eyes. She sighed lightly before standing up straight, folding her hands in front of her.

"I  _really_  don't know how to thank you," she spoke quietly before looking up at him. He sighed lightly, amused somewhat by the statement.

"Don't worry about it," he said, also in a low voice while smiling. Sarah's smile dilated slightly before returning to its original smile. "How's he doing?" he asked. The blonde's smile faded away somewhat. Her eyes shifted down, looking at the ground.

"His asthma, alright, I suppose." She breathed out heavily through her nostrils. It was now Alfred's turn to have some of his smile vanish.

"There's something else, isn't there?" he asked, evident pain in his voice. He knew it was a tough question to answer. He knew something else was wrong.

Sarah sighed. "Alfred-"

"Mom! I'm ready!" Steve shouted from his bedroom. The blonde turned her head, looking over her shoulder while holding her hand up, semi-closed while the other one remained at her side.

"I'll be right there!" she shouted back before turning back to Alfred. "Why don't you come in?" she asked, forcing a smile on her face. Alfred nodded and Sarah opened the door, moving to the side as he walked into the small apartment. He set down the leather baseball mitt on the small kitchen table looking up when he heard a soft  _click_.

Mrs. Rogers closed the door and locked it quickly before walking over to the boy's bedroom with Mr. Jones following close behind. Little Steve was sitting up in bed, smiling and holding the blanket in his lap with his small hands, waiting for his goodnight kiss from his mother.

Sarah smiled the moment she saw her son, slowly walking over to his bedside. "Let me tuck you in…" Steve began to shift his body downward so he was resting his head on his pillow, his mother pulling the quilt blanket that she made over him. "Good night," she said before lowering her head, kissing him on the forehead.

The boy closed his eyes for a moment before opening them when his mom pulled away, her hand running over the top of his head. "Night, Mom. Night, Uncle Alfred," the boy spoke quietly spoke before a soft yawn escaped from his body.

Alfred smiled, watching the two from the doorway. "Night, Buddy." He nodded his head towards the boy, who in turn smiled back. Steve's mother slowly straightened up and turned to walk out of the room, flipping the lamp switch by the door "Off" on her way out. Her hand grabbed the door handle and pulled it along with her as she left the room.

Sarah turned around once out in the narrow hallway, smiling one last time at the boy. He smiled back at his mother as she slowly and quietly closed the door, the last remnants of light now coming through the crack between the door and its frame and the floor.

Sarah turned around to face Alfred and sighed heavily, now looking down at her shoes with her hands folded together. "The doctor said that he has high blood pressure now. Last year, he had scarlet fever. He gets colds at least once a month. And now he has heart issues." She spoke in a hushed voice as her eyes began to water up. She loved her son, and her current state of emotion was more than enough to prove that. "The doctors are costing me, costing us  _a lot_. I just don't know what to do."

The woman's brown eyes, now with red around the rims, kept shifting from Alfred to her right. It was apparent that she was overwhelmed by all the debt and the piling bills from the appointments to the doctor's office.

Alfred's eyes sadly narrowed behind his pair of glasses. He step forward, his arms surrounding her and pulling her into his embrace. Sarah quietly cried into his leather clad chest, her hands covering her face as he slowly rocked her side to side.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered, closing his eyes and sighing softly as he held his dead friend's wife.


	3. Better Late Than Never I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the giver or doer." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

**_~*~One Year Later; September 5th 1929 ~*~_ **

Alfred sat at the round table, propping his head up on his hand and using the other one to vaguely cover up his loud and obnoxious yawn. There was no progress to be made. Italy's representative, Feliciano Vargas, was rambling on about how much he loved pasta at the moment and how everyone in the World Meetings should demand to have pasta served to them instead of the crappy scones that Sir Arthur Kirkland, England's representative, had been ever so  _kind_  to bring in. He practically wanted to kill everyone in the room due to the bad economy, including a certain someone with glasses and always shouted, "I'm the hero!"

Greece's representative, Heracles Karpusi, was asleep as usual, sitting in his chair with a kitten on his head. How he managed to get that feline into the room when there were strictly no pets allowed baffled everyone. And how he had the authority to enter the room as well…Life was indeed a mystery. Kiku Honda sat in his chair, sitting upright and pretending to listen to Feliciano's rambling when all he really wanted to do was to fall asleep, like everyone else. A blonde haired man with his mane up to his shoulders kept staring at himself using a large 8" pink mirror with a large handle that his right hand was wrapped around it as his left hand adjusted his hair. This was France's representative, Francis Bonnefoy.

A brown haired man sitting down with a sewing kit in front of him was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Spain's representative, was stitching in the letter "N" of his red, green and white sweater. The red letters so far read "ROMA" and a little over half way done with the "N". He sat there, content to himself as he sewed, giving up on trying to read the atmosphere. He also was not supposed to be in the meeting room, but since Feliciano was friends with him (and with some insistent begging on Antonio's part), he was allowed to come. Yao Wang, China's representative, sat next to the Spanish man holding a pair of wooden chopsticks was eating some white rice, oblivious of the current ramblings of the Italian man.

An empty seat was between the seats of the representatives from Italy and Japan, belonging to the representative from Germany, Ludwig Beilschmidt. Let's just say that the reason that he wasn't in the room at the time was because he had one of the English delicacies brought in by the Englishman and well…Germans and scones don't mix well.

"…And that's why I think Pasta can get us out of this mess." The brown haired Italian man ended his speech, smiling dreamily still. One could practically see little pink flowers surrounding the man. One could also wonder whether Italy's representative was a transgender person or not.

Sir Kirkland put down his china tea cup after finishing a sip gently on the saucer that he held with his left hand. While swallowing, he took the opportunity to think of an appropriate thing to say. Sighing contently with a hint on annoyance, the British man spoke. "Thank you, Mr. Vargas, but I don't think that pasta  _will_  help us get out of the debt hole that we're in."

Feliciano blinked once, then twice, before he got the message. The next thing that one could see was the Italian man in the corner, sobbing and moping. Sir Kirkland panicked slightly, a drop of sweat forming at his left temple. "Ahh, Mr. Vargas, I can assure you that it's not that  _I_  don't like pasta, but-"

"Why are British people so mean~!" the Italian man sobbed hysterically, now sucking his thumb. Alfred sighed as he watched the scene unfold before his very eyes. Out of boredom, the American glanced down at his watch.  _1:52…1:52? SHIT!_

Alfred quickly stood up and grabbed his suit case that was resting on the floor on the left side of the chair that he was sitting a good three hours in until now. "Shit, I'm gonna be late!" the man grumbled under his breath as he. This did not go unnoticed by Sir Kirkland and the others (who were still awake…).

"Hey!" the British man shouted. Alfred didn't stop his speed walking towards the door though. "Where do you think you're going?"

The American representative stopped walking as he grabbed the door handle, turning to look back at the group of representatives. "Since no progress to be made here, I have some other  _more important_  business to attend to. Later dudes!" he saluted them, winking at them before grabbing the door handle again and opening the door, leaving the conference room and the other country representatives behind it, who stared blinking at them.

France's representative, Francis Bonnefoy, set down the mirror that he was staring at up until the American made his leave. "Speaking of which," he spoke with an apparent French accent in his voice. "Something's missing."

"Huh?" both Sir Kirkland and Feliciano looked up at the Frenchman. He was right. Something  _was_  missing.

"Koru, koru, koru, koru."

Everyone froze in the room. Yao Wang stopped eating. Heracles woke up, fear immediately kicking in. Antonio stopped his stitching almost immediately. Slowly, all heads turned towards the door where Alfred walked out less than a minute ago. A tall man, probably Russian, with silver hair was standing in front of the door, locking it as soon as he knew everyone was looking at him. It was Ivan Braginski, Russia's representative. And at that moment, everyone wanted to sob holding a teddy bear,  _literally_.

Where was Ludwig and his rocket launcher when you needed him?

"Become one with Mother Russia, da?" Ivan's sadistic smile only grew wider. A few seconds later, some manly screams could be heard from the meeting room. The poor representatives…

Somewhere on the bottom floor, Alfred stopped; hand in his pocket with the other one holding onto his briefcase. "Huh?" he thought he heard some manly screams, so the American paused by the door, turning his head back to the stair well. And then he realized that he was running late still…

"SHIT!" his body jerked into motion, running towards the door and…crashing into it, which stunned him for a second, his face pressed up against the glass door. His body jerked back, though. And surprisingly enough, his glasses didn't even crack. Alfred hastily grabbed the door handle and jerked it back, practically running out of the building.

* * *

Steve, wearing a pair of overalls with a gold star on them and a red and white striped shirt below that, waited anxiously by the window, his little hands against the window. He peered out onto the busy street below him, waiting for a certain someone to arrive.  _He said he was going to be here…Where is he?_  The nine year old turned his head and glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 2:30. He was already a half an hour late.

Sadly, Steve let the thin cotton curtain drop, covering the window once more. Sarah watched him out of the corner of her eye, seeing the disappointed look on his face. "He'll be here," she spoke softly as she wiped a plate with a dish towel. Her little boy kept looking down at the floor, apparently not believing her.

There was a loud noise of rubber tires skidding on the street below, followed by a loud car horn going off. "Hey, watch it!" a male driver shouted. Steve picked up his head, startled by the noise. Quickly he turned and ran back to the window, hastily peeling back the curtain once more. There was a black car parked out on the street in front of the apartment complex.

A man wearing a leather jacket and brown suit pants with light brown hair all but jumped out of his car as he opened the driver side door. Swiftly, he turned and opened up the rear left door, taking out a large and skinny giftwrapped box and then slamming the door, jogging up onto the sidewalk and then towards the apartment complex front door. Steve's face brightened up. He knew the man.

"Mom, Mom!" he shouted excitedly as he turned away from the window, running towards the door. "He's here! He's here!"

Sarah smiled happily at her son. She knew he would be here. She sighed lightly and put down a glass back into the sink and set the dishtowel onto the counter after wiping her hands dry before she began to walk over towards the door, hastily trying to untie the light green apron that she wore around her front, covering up her white dress with a repeating pattern of red flowers.

Steve looked up at his mother, smiling widely as he stood by the door, waiting for her to walk over. Once she was standing by him, he peered out of the open doorway, holding onto the wooden doorframe with his little hands as he stared down the hall where the elevator was. The lights slowly lit up and faded as it kept moving to the right before stopping at the one with the " ** _6_** ". The elevator emitted a low sound of its stopping.

The little boy stared at the metal doors of the metal box behind it, waiting anxiously for them to open.  _Ding_. The doors slowly began to open, and the man that Steve saw outside was standing there, the box still under his arm.

The man looked up, smiling almost instantaneously as he saw the little boy. He took off, running almost, towards the nine year old.

"Uncle Alfred!" Steve shouted as he jumped out behind the doorway.

"Hey, Champ!" Alfred shouted, smiling widely and laughing as the little boy ran a few steps towards him. The uncle scooped up his nephew with his right arm, hugging him tightly with the large giftwrapped box still tucked under his left. "Sorry I'm late," he sighed. Steve ignored him, just happy that he was here after all.

Sarah slowly walked outside into the hallway, smiling at the two. She leaned against the doorway, waiting for Alfred to finally come in. And yet at the same time, she didn't want to ruin the moment. Steve was so happy right now. She wondered how much longer this would last.

Steve pulled away from his uncle, smiling. Alfred smirked lightly down at his nephew and then adjusted his arm to that the little boy was sitting on it.

"Whoa!" Steve couldn't help but laugh, and his uncle caught the apparently contagious laughter. The mother also chuckled lightly, still leaning against the doorway with her arms folded against her chest.

"Why don't you two come in and eat lunch?" she spoke before turning to walk back inside the apartment, smiling all the way. Alfred followed her in, still holding onto Little Stevie, who was clinging to him like a monkey.

* * *

The trio sat at a small wooden table for lunch. Steve sat with his back to the window, Alfred to his right, and Sarah sat to his left. Blue china was set out for the special occasion. Alfred tried to stop by when he was around, but for the most part, he was pretty busy filling out paperwork.

On the menu for lunch today were grilled cheese sandwiches, Steve's personal favorite. The little boy slowly chewed on the sandwich, tasting the warm cheese and the bread, and fully enjoying it. The little blonde boy looked up at Alfred, just sparing a glance. The man however, saw this out of the corner of his left eye. He smiled. Challenge accepted.

Turning his head slightly to the left, Alfred stuck his tongue out at the nine year old boy and then quickly retracted it. Steve thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look up at his uncle, he was chewing on another bite of the grilled cheese sandwich. The little boy blinked, confused, but then shifted his gaze to looking back down at his sandwich. Alfred swallowed and then shifted his eyes back to the little boy once he knew he wasn't looking anymore.

Smirking, he turned his head down slightly and stuck his tongue out once more. This time, however, the nine year old looked up at his uncle, who was still sticking his tongue at the boy. Steve broke out into a fit of laughter, unable to contain it. Alfred smiled widely back at the boy, just living in the moment.

Sarah watched the two the entire time, never once stopped smiling. Her brown eyes continued to stare at the two, staring warmly at them. The blonde then looked down at her bitten grill cheese sandwich which she had only taken a few bites out of. She couldn't help but think how things would be if Joe lived… _If only…_

"Hey, kid," the uncle talked, chewing the last of his sandwich in his mouth obnoxiously. He swallowed loudly, then sighing from relief. Steve looked up at him, curious eyes studying him.

"Yeah?"

"You remember that I came in here with a big box, right?"

The boy nodded. Alfred smirked lightly, definitely up to something.

"Well then…" he shoved his right hand into his pant pocket. The other hand came up to pull his glasses back in place on his head. "Ready to open it?"

The nine year old's face brightened up as soon as the words registered in his ears. He nodded eagerly, barely containing himself.

"Alright then," Alfred grunted slightly as he leaned over, pulling the boy out of his chair and onto his lap, startling him slightly. The man then leaned over to his right, picking up the large and somewhat heavy giftwrapped box. Alfred then set the gift on the lower part of his thighs and his knee caps, right beside Steve, who sat across his lap while leaning into his uncle's chest and right arm.

Sarah laughed lightly as she saw her son be pulled into the man's lap. She became more delighted when the boy began tearing away the wrapping paper that had red and white stripes in various widths, some being as skinny as a spaghetti string while others the width of Little Steve's hand.

When there was barely any paper left, Steve stopped and stared at the box, staring at it in awe. "Wow!" he exclaimed, looking up at his smirking uncle before quickly turning his attention back to the box. It was a bicycle, the one that he wanted for his birthday a few months ago.

"Would have brought it over sooner, but I was away at a meeting during your birthday, Dude," Alfred explained, looking down at him, still smirking slightly. His nephew was still too busy staring at the box with its prized contents to actually care at that moment.

Steve looked up, practically smiling from ear to ear. "Thanks, Uncle Alfred!"

Alfred's smirk softened into a warm smile. He raised his left hand and brought it down upon his nephew's head, slowly ruffling it. "Any time, Dude."

Due to his blonde hair being ruffled, Steve closed an eye, his soft locks tickling the left orb. And then he remembered something. "Wait," he interrupted the moment, shooting up at that moment. Both Sarah and Alfred stared at him, surprised and curious about what he meant. The blonde boy jumped down from Alfred's lap and ran down the hall, passing his mother, whose brown eyes followed him as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

Steve ran into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. After about two seconds of uncanny silence, it could be heard through the thin walls that the little boy was tearing his room apart; apparently searching for something that he thought was of importance.

Alfred stared at the hallway door, somewhat leaning out of his chair while Sarah sat, her head turned, straining as she also stared at the door for a few more seconds. Alfred sighed happily, a smiling forming on his lips as he leaned back into the chair. Steve's mother followed suit, turning her head to look back at the house guest. Sarah sighed heavily, thinking of how much Steve could be a hassle sometimes, but she never hated him for it. It made her love him more as her son. He was so much like his father…

"Steve's something alright," Alfred sighed, laughing a little. The blonde woman across him couldn't help but chuckle a little at this as well, looking down at the wooden table and her folded hands.

"Yeah," she spoke quietly, smiling still, but now a bit sadly. She pursed her lips, deep in thought about what happened about nine and a half years ago. But then she forced herself to forget such thoughts for the time being. Alfred was here. She already cried in front of him so many times…she had to stop. Sarah looked up, forcing a light smile on her face. More ruckus came from Steve's room, and then something sounded like it shattered onto his wooden floor.

Alarmed, Sarah turned her head back around, staring at the wooden door once more while sitting on the edge of her seat. Alfred was also alarmed by the sudden noise, leaning on the edge of the chair while peering at the door.

"Did something break?" the mother asked, shouting somewhat. The noise died down somewhat.

"No!" Steve shouted back from the other side of the wall. The noise level then increased. One could tell that he was furiously looking for something. Another  _THUD_  sounded against the wooden floor, and now Sarah was about ready to get up and check up on him to see what in the world he was doing. What stopped her though was the bedroom door being flung open with Steve running out of the room, clutching a brown paper bag with a rectangular-like object in it to his chest.

He ran down the hallway and over to Alfred, panting somewhat. The man exchanged a glance with Sarah, who was probably a little worried at the moment just as well, considering his asthma and all. Steve held out the bag to his uncle with his right hand, dangling under the boy's hand slightly from the force of the boy holding it out. He was looking at him with slightly nervous eyes. "For you," he spoke, urging Alfred to take the bag.

The representative stared at him, surprised and bewildered somewhat at the moment. He spared another glance as the boy's mother, who nodded her head at him. Alfred turned his attention back to Steve and took the bag slowly with both hands, gripping the sides of the crumpled and somewhat beaten up bag. He glanced up at the boy, looking at him once more before looking down at the bag again. "What's this for?" he asked, smiling a small nervous smile.

"For your birthday." Alfred looked up at the boy, stunned. "Would've gotten it to you sooner, but you were away." Steve's voice died out towards the end, him looking away shyly. The boy's uncle stared at him for a second or two more, blinking at him before sighing happily and raising his hand up, having it land on the boy's head once more. He ruffled his hair lightly, surprising the boy slightly at the gesture.

Alfred took his hand away and then opened up the bag, looking down into it to look at its contents. He blinked and then stuck his hand in the bag, causing it to crumple and stretch slightly here and there as he tried to grab the black rectangular box inside the bag. The light brown haired man took it out, blinking at it and wondering what was in it. Sarah sat back in her seat, a small knowing smile gracing her lips.

"C'mon, open it up!" whined Steve, standing impatiently in front of his uncle. Alfred looked down from the box to see the boy's pouting face, which caused him to chuckle lightly.

"Alright, alright! Sheesh!" he laughed a little and put the paper bag on the tabletop next to his empty blue china plate full of crumbs. The box had a small little golden clasp on it, holding it closed. Alfred flicked it up with his thumb and then grabbed the top of the box with his right hand, the bottom with his left. He slowly pulled the two sides away from each other, the box opening up, revealing a fountain pen with the American flag on it. Above it, in the white fabric of the box's lining, written in gold lettering was:

**_Patriot_ **

**_One who loves, supports, and defends one's country._ **

Alfred looked up, completely awed by the gift. Steve and Sarah smiled more, seeing the man's reaction. A second later, he shared the same bright smile as the other two. Taking his right hand off of the box, he shot it forward, bringing in the nine year old and hugging him tightly. Steve enthusiastically returned the hug, laughing somewhat. "Thanks, Dude," Alfred whispered, still hugging his nephew. The boy said nothing in return, only leaning in further into his uncle's arms.


	4. Better Late Than Never II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Life is like riding a bicycle - in order to keep your balance, you must keep moving." -Albert Einstein

**_~*~About Twenty Minutes Later~*~_ **

The early September sun was directly on Alfred's back as he was crouched in front of the stoop of the apartment complex, ever so slowly assembling the red bicycle. Steve, on the other hand, was content sitting on the top step of the concrete stoop for the apartment complex while munching on a watermelon slice. The man groaned slightly, looking up and wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Discarded of his suit jacket, vest, and tie, Alfred's attire was down to his brown suit pants; and his white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first and second buttons undone.

The representative looked down, eyes squinting from trying to block out the sunlight as he observed the yellow piece of paper that had the assembling instructions on it. It almost seemed blinding since the text was so small…at least it wasn't  _white._  That would've  _really_  killed his vision.

"So, I'm supposed to screw this into…" Alfred looked up from the piece of paper at the bike. It started to click in his head. His blue eyes widened, and an open mouthed smile made its way onto his face. He panted slightly, but didn't care. He started to work harder and faster this time, forgetting about the heat lamp that was on his back. It was about ten minutes later when Sarah stepped out onto the stoop for the apartment complex.

"Steve," she spoke quietly. The boy heard her, picking up his head and turning to see her. Alfred apparently didn't, either that, or he was too busy to listen, diligently working on assembling the bike. "Can you bring down the cooler?" she asked. The boy nodded and then quickly rose to his feet, running up the three steps before heading inside the door. Not a lot of people were out and about due to the heat wave. The temperature in fact broke records, it was that hot!

The bicycle was only missing a few things now: the seat, the handlebars, and kickstand. Alfred glanced upwards for only a second, thinking that he would see Steve before looking back down, but instead…Sarah? He froze, staring at the kickstand that he was screwing in before waiting a second to look up to the blonde woman.

Sarah stared at him with warm brown eyes, smiling at him. Her hands unconsciously gripped and twisted the red towel that she held in her palms that were becoming sweaty. She chuckled lightly, seeing his confused face as she began to walk over.

"Where's Steve?" he asked, standing up from his crouching position. He wiped his sweaty hands on the burning material of his dark brown suit pants. It didn't do him much good. His right hand readjusted his falling glasses as he stood up, still wondering where the little boy ran off to.

"He's inside," the blonde replied, nodding her head towards the door. She stopped walking, the bicycle still being assembled standing in between them. "Getting the cooler." She finished, looking back up at the light brown haired man. She had to admit, the man  _was_  attractive, blue eyes and standing at a good six feet, but she put that aside for now, deciding to think about that later. She brought up the red towel, handing it to him. "Thought you would like this," she said, a little bit shyly. Alfred looked down at her hands, observing the red cloth before looking back at her. She ushered him to take, extending her hands a little bit closer to him.

The man took it, and boy did it feel  _good_  in his hand. It was wet and almost ice cold, something that would cool him down. "Thank you." He smiled at her before taking of his glasses with his right hand and proceeding to wipe his face with the wet cloth and the back of his neck with his left. Alfred then put his glasses on, smiling at Sarah with gratitude. "God, that feels good…"

Sarah giggled lightly at this, a feint blush creeping onto her face. She brought up a hand in front of her mouth on instinct. He practically looked like a panting dog. Well, he  _was_ acting like one, the way he was panting heavily and all.

"Mom!"

The two adults turned their heads to face the door, seeing the nine year old carrying the cooler in front of him, apparently weighing him down. Worry instantly kicking in, the boy's mother turned on her heel and ran over to the top of the stoop, almost tripping, but she kept running until she was at the second to top stair. Steve sighed heavily, panting lightly as he exhaustingly set the cooler down on the concrete with a  _THUD_.

"Honey, a-are you alright?" she asked, the words not leaving her mouth fast enough. Her mind was bouncing off the walls. Alfred stared in shock, wondering what was going to happen. He was also too scared to move at the time, afraid that he would cause something that would ruin everything. Steve looked up at his mother, smiling weakly.

"I'm fine, Mom," he replied, no longer panting and now talking in a normal voice. Alfred's worried look disappeared somewhat, a half smile appearing. Sarah's hand stoked Steve's head. She was also smiling somewhat nervously. Steve opened the door of the cooler and took out two of the six glass Coca Cola bottles that were chilling in there, one in each hand. The little boy then hopped down the steps, one by one, careful to watch his footing.

The boy then walked out the remaining five or six steps to his uncle, stopping when he was about a foot and a half away from him. He held out the Coca Cola bottle that was in his left hand to Alfred, smiling still. "Here," Steve spoke, sighing lightly.

Alfred blinked at the blonde boy before smiling lightly; taking the bottle out the boy's small hand with his large and somewhat sweaty left one. "Thanks!" the man held up the bottle, looking at the label for a second before looking down at Steve. Both of them then gripped the edged metal caps with their opposite hands and twisted them off. The soda sizzled somewhat, foaming up at the mouth of the glass bottle. The glass bottles  _DINGED_ , banging against each other lightly before being pulled away.

Sarah sighed lightly, a small smile on her face as she watched the two down their drinks. It then occurred to her, they were almost like a family… _almost_. All the content that she was just feeling now went away,  _gone._  Joe died, well over nine years ago by now. It would probably be wishful thinking if she thought that he would come back, wouldn't it? The blonde woman looked down, biting on the insides on her lips.

"Dude, ready to ride a bike?" Alfred asked the boy, smiling widely while looking down at him with his blue eyes.

Steve nodded. "Yeah!" he laughed a little, causing his uncle to do the same.

Sarah looked up, blinking back the tears in her eyes before sighing painfully in silence.

**_~*~About Ten Minutes Later~*~_ **

It took about ten more minutes for Alfred to finish setting up the bike, testing it over and over again to make sure that it didn't fall apart. Steve, who was anxious to ride his newfound mode of transportation, gradually became whinier by the minute, up to the point in which he was lightly pounding his fists against the tall man's chest.

"C'mon, Uncle Alfred, you've done enough! Let me ride it now!" the boy was practically demanding him to stop. Alfred was taken back for a second, the behavior of his nephew causing him to go through déjà vu. And then he realized…Matthew Williams, the representative of Canada in the World Meetings. Speaking of which, whatever happened to them after he left…?  _Meh…_

Alfred chuckled lightly before patting the pouting and annoyed nine year old boy on the head. "Alright, alright,  _sheesh_ ," he scoffed, rolling his eyes a little. Steve's annoyed expression immediately went away and he was now smiling widely, diamonds practically in his eyes.

"Yay!" the blonde boy raised his hands to rest in fists under his chin and then did a little dance while in place, causing the older man to laugh once more. Alfred then adjusted his glasses sighing lightly as the boy eagerly climbed onto the bike, leaning to the left with his foot still on the ground. The American Representative leaned over, grabbing the cover for the back wheel and the back of the bicycle seat.

"You ready?" he asked, smirking lightly.

Steve turned to face him, smirking back lightly as well. He nodded. "Ready when you are." He stated before turning his head back to see forward. The boy then raised his left foot off the ground and pushed forward with his right. Alfred pushed the bike forward, taking a step slowly as he pushed off the boy on the bike, and then another, and then one more before letting go. Steve pedaled forward as Alfred pushed him forward, slowly gaining speed.

Alfred leaned back up straight, smiling confidently and proudly at the boy. The wheels of the bike spun as the boy rode forward for a few feet before…

"Uh…uhhh…" the boy started losing control of the bike. The front wheel kept turning left and right, back and forth as Steve kept trying to regain his sense of balance. Accidentally, he jerked the handlebars to the right, the wheel turned almost sideways and, well, he fell over onto his left side.

Alfred's smirk turned into a thin line when he saw the boy trying to right himself, and his jaw nearly dropped to the ground when he saw his nephew, well,  _drop to the ground._

Sarah, who was watching from the stoop and  _was_  smiling as she watched the boy ride the bike, and then Steve fell…

"Steve!" the woman shouted as she ran down the steps and passed Alfred, running. The man watched her pass him for a second before also taking off in a light sprint. The boy was only a mere ten feet away, but both adults felt like they couldn't get there fast enough.

The boy grunted a little as he slowly moved, his right arm up in the air and bent towards him as he looked down to survey the damage before turning his neck and head, looking in back of him when he heard his mother shout his name.

Alfred came to an abrupt stop, kneeling beside the boy and then locking his arms around Steve's, dragging him from underneath the bicycle while gritting his teeth lightly behind his closed mouth. The man grunted, noting that even the kid was somewhat skinny, he was  _not_  as light as he looked. Sarah lifted up the red two-wheeler, grunting lightly as she did so.

When the boy was out from underneath the bicycle, Sarah set the bike down before quickly kneeling down, her hands cupping her son's face. "Steve, you alright?"

Lightly biting his lips, the blonde nine year old nodded. "But my knee stings," he groaned.

Alfred and Sarah's eyes left the boy and traveled down his left leg, only to find a slight tear in the denim overalls and a gash on the boy's knee. The man sighed quietly before chuckling lightly, almost to himself.

"Let me guess, you've never ridden a bike before, right?" he smiled somewhat. At the remark, the boy looked away from him, quietly nodding his head. "Why didn't you tell me?" Alfred then frowned slightly, his eyebrows furrowing somewhat.

"I'd thought you'd laugh at me," Steve quietly muttered. The boy's voice was barely audible. "All the other kids do."

Sarah looked up from her son to Alfred, who in turn looked up at her. It almost looked like they were having a silent conversation for a moment.

"I'll go get some Band-Aids," she told the two of them before rising to stand up and briskly walk back into the building. And then, there was the two of them. Alfred sighed exhaustingly. The blonde boy mentally gulped, thinking that he was angry with him. He slammed his eyes shut and leaned into his chest somewhat, frightened of the thought that his uncle that he loved so much was  _angry_  at him.

He felt Alfred's hand on his head, but it was not an abusive blow. And now, his hair was being ruffled. Steve waited a second before opening his pale blue eyes slowly, opening one before the other. His uncle was smiling at him, and now, he snorted lightly; probably because of the expression on his face…

"You're a knuckle head, you know that?" Uncle Al asked laughing as he now ruffled the boy's hair a little bit harder, his fist now closed. Sure, Steve was silly at times, but then again, weren't they both? The boy broke out into a fit of uncontrollable giggling a few seconds later, now at ease.


	5. Better Late Than Never III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you worried about falling off the bike, you'd never get on." - Lance Armstrong

**_~*~Around Five Minutes Later~*~_ **

Around five minutes later, Sarah briskly walked outside of the apartment complex, almost throwing the front door open on the way out. The sound of soles clicking on the concrete pavement broke the spell of happiness on the uncle and nephew. They looked up and saw her walk closer when she was about a little less than five feet away from them.

She walked around Alfred and then abruptly kneeled down in front of the two on the sidewalk, her knees resting on the pavement. The two silently watched the blonde woman as she took off the adhesive backings for one of the Band-Aids, which was a rather large one, one surely to cover the boy's scraped knee. Holding it with both hands on either side of the Band-Aid, Sarah slowly put it on the scrape, earning a light hiss of pain from the nine year old.

After a few seconds of waiting while Sarah made sure that the Band-Aid was firmly sticking to the skin around the scrape, Alfred looked down at Steve. "How you doing?" he inquired as a tad bit of worry came in through the back door of his coherent thinking. The blue eyed boy looked up at Alfred with a curious look at first before smiling lightly.

"I'm good," he replied in a tone that seemed to go along with his expression. Alfred dismissed any thoughts of the boy covering up the fact that he was in pain, apparently, he wasn't, but his overalls now had a decent size hole in them.

Sarah sighed lightly at the hole in his overalls. She would have to find some sort of fabric to sew to patch up the hole sometime tonight while he was asleep. It would be the only chance she would have, since those were his favorite overalls. Alfred got them for Steve back in April for Easter. He wore them ever since, rarely wearing anything else.

The boy then tried to stand up. Alfred let go him, a little bit reluctantly too, which didn't go unnoticed by the boy's mother. The boy then looked down at his battle wound, slowly and carefully bending his knee back and forth and lightly stomping the ground with his left foot. He looked up at his uncle with a pleading expression while smiling lightly. "Can I try again?" he asked.

Alfred's blue eyes widened behind their glasses, he looked up at Sarah, who was sharing a look similar to the one that he had currently before looking back down at Steve. A light smirk then crawled onto his face. "Sure!"

It was well almost four in the afternoon before Steve was allowed to try again. Sarah had wanted him to wait an extra thirty minutes or so to make sure that Steve didn't make it worse…or open it up again, or get hurt somewhere else. The boy pouted at this, whining about his mother being too worried about him again. Both adults had to laugh at this. Alfred rested a hand on Steve's shoulder, still chuckling somewhat and told him that she just cares.

The boy said that he knew that…all _too_  well. Sarah laughed a little harder at this, folding both of her hands in front of her. Her brown eyes were twinkling in amusement as she looked down at her boy. She then turned somewhat and saw the cooler behind her. Leaning over somewhat, she took a Coke from the container and handed it to the nine year old.

"Will this make things better?" she asked, snickering lightly. Steve's pouting face immediately disappeared and he vigorously nodded his head.

"Yeah, Yeah, it will!" he tried jumping up for the bottle, but Sarah held it  _just_  out of his reach. After him jumping for it about two or three times, Steve stopped, and began pouting again. His mother chuckled and ruffled his hair lightly before bending down somewhat and handing him the Coca Cola. The boy was practically beaming now.

"Yay! Thank you!" and that's all he said before unscrewing the cap and began chugalugging the soda down. Alfred and Sarah by now were smiling brightly down at him, oh,  _so_  happy to have him. About ¾ done with the bottle, he stopped, gasping for air. Curious by their expressions, he looked up, eyes shifting to and fro between Alfred and Sarah. "What?"

"Nothing, kid. Nothing," Alfred replied by ruffling his hair lightly, causing a small giggle to come out of the kid.

It was the same as almost two hours ago; Steve was on the bicycle, ready to go with Alfred in back, on standby with his hands on both the cover for the back wheel and back of the seat. Both were smirking. They were going to do it this time; it was a  _fact_ , an undeniable  _truth_. No mess ups, no slowing down, just keep pedaling. The roads were practically clear. Traffic had died down a considerable amount. It was the  _perfect_  time to do this.

"Ready?" Alfred asked, eyes rolling up to look at the back of the boy's head. Steve nodded.

"Yup!" he hollered with his voice full of excitement. His hands were shaking a bit, tightly gripping the handlebars and then loosening it, and then tighter again.

The grown man pushed forward. The nine year old pushed down on the right petal, raising his left foot off of the ground. Alfred began to walk a bit faster now, keeping up but forcing Steve to go at the speed that he was maintaining all at once. Sarah bit her lips nervously as she watched. She was  _scared_ , to say the least. Unconsciously, she kept squeezing and letting go of the fabric of her floral dress. Her body was shaking, giving away her overwhelmed behavior. But the duo didn't notice. They kept going.

The stones that expanded past the doorway began to block her vision of the two. Without even thinking, she got up quickly and ran down the steps, stopping on the concrete sidewalk. Her brown eyes widened slightly. They were still going…

"Hey, Uncle Alfred, I'm doing it!"

Alfred laughed lightly, still keeping up with the boy. "Good, now, whatever you do, don't look back."

"Right!"

The man's smile dilated slightly. He let go of the pieces of metal slowly, but still kept up right behind him. Steve kept pedaling, unaware that he was now riding the bike on his own. Alfred gradually began to slow down, slowly becoming farther away from the boy. Steve pedaled away from him, becoming farther and farther, all by himself.  _Five feet…now ten…now fifteen…and now thirty._

Alfred raised his hands and cupped them around his mouth. "Now STOP!" he called out. The nine year old boy was at first stunned and the bike wiggled beneath him a little, but he did what his uncle asked of him. His left foot came off of the petal and onto the black surface of the roadway. It skidded along the ground for a bit, but within a few seconds, he stopped, wheels no longer spinning.

As soon as he stopped moving, Steve turned his head, blue eyes widening when he saw the distance between himself and his uncle. Alfred was about thirty feet from the apartment complex, which wasn't far from the intersection that turned onto it. Steve was about a good forty five or fifty feet away from the nearest intersection; and that section of road was about two-hundred feet long…he was completely in awe. To say how far he was, there was an about thirty of forty feet distance between the two.

Alfred turned slightly back to look at Sarah's shocked and ecstatic face before turning back to look at his nine year old nephew.

Steve was panting, but one could see the look on his face was an overjoyed one.

He uncle raised his hands and cupped them around his mouth once more. "Now, try pedaling back here!" he yelled out, and surprisingly, the boy could still hear him. Steve choked on his saliva for a second there.  _WHAT?_

He nervously looked down at his red bike before looking back up at Alfred. "C'mon! You were able to get over there by yourself! You can do it!"

Steve mentally flinched, but he sighed, raising his foot back onto the petal as he pushed off. And surprisingly… _he was doing it!_

 _Right, left, right, left, right…_ It seemed like a rhythm, in a way. The nine year old kept it up, pedaling along as he came closer to his uncle. Steve's smile grew wider and wider gradually with each pedaling. And he could also see his uncle's smile grow bigger by the second. Huh, it wasn't so hard after all, was it?

Sarah was standing there, hands covering her mouth and nose, on the brink of tears, overwhelmed with joy at that very moment. She couldn't believe it, she really couldn't. Steve's mother  _never_  thought that this could be a reality, up until now at least.

Steve began to slow down fifteen feet away from his uncle. He stopped pedaling, and the wheels slowly came to a halt. About five in front of his uncle, the boy came to a halt, lowering his left foot onto the pavement once more. Alfred began walking over, laughing lightly.

"Way to go, Dude!" he praised him. He raised his right hand that was somewhat covered with dried grease. The boy grinned, raising his right hand as well as he saw his uncle walk closer, stopping a few inches to the right of him. They both high-fived, a clapping noise rung in the air and Steve laughed a little. "You were AWSOME!" Alfred emphasized his point by winking at him with his right eye.

At this, nine year old Steve laughed a little more, briefly closing one eye while almost closing the other eye. His grin was now almost from ear to ear. Still standing where she was, a tear or two rolled out of the boy's brown eyes. She moved forward, at first briskly walking over before running somewhat towards them.

"Steve!" she shouted. The attention of the two turned from each other towards the boy's mother that was jogging over towards them. "Steve," she said his name again, this time more low-key as she came to a stop, breathing somewhat harshly and wrapping her arms around her boy. The tears were still there in her eyes. "I'm so proud of you," Sarah sniffled, hugging him slightly tighter. The said boy stared at his mother, shocked at first before softly closing his eyes and smiling, leaning into his mother's embrace as he stood with the seat of the bicycle still below him.

Alfred stared, stunned somewhat at this, blinking curiously at this. A small smile the crept onto his face before expanding some more, widening in size. He held his right arm with his left hand, smiling quite proudly at the boy. And then it dawned upon him, making the smile fading a little bit and his eyes dilate to some extent, but not a lot. Steve wasn't a  _nephew_  to him; he was more like a  _son_ …a  _child_  of his that he never had.

It was getting late, and what broke the touching scene's trance was the roaring of Steve's stomach after he did a few more laps to and fro from the front of the building to around the first intersection. Both Sarah and Alfred couldn't help but laugh somewhat, the boy joining in shortly after. They began the walk back, Steve walking his bike up the block with his mother's hand on his back. Alfred walked on the other side, to the left of the two, hands shoved in his pockets as they walked up the road. The sky above began to show the ever so slight hints of a pink tinting the sky, showing that the sun would set within the next hour.

The grown man sighed contently, feeling as if he had accomplished something that day, when technically, he  _did._  Steve learned to ride a bike. He heard a set of wheels that were spinning fast heading towards him, breaking him out of his thought cloud and forcing him to investigate. He was a black haired kid wearing a baggy olive green shirt that had some dirt on it riding a red bike like Steve's with a pair of somewhat baggy jeans and scuffed up sneakers.

"Hey, Steve!" the kid called out, slowly rolling out to a stop. Alfred looked down to the boy, whose face automatically brightened up when seeing the boy. "Bucky!" he shouted in reply as the Bucky slowly came closer.

Bucky put his foot on the pavement, stopping himself. He looked at his friend, smiling somewhat. Steve matched that smile. "What's up?" the blue eyed boy asked eagerly. Bucky's eyes widened somewhat when he saw Steve's bike. "You got a bike?" he asked, rather shocked at the discovery that he had just made.

The blonde boy nodded his head once, proudly too at that. "Yeah, got it today!" he stated, full of confidence. At this, Bucky grinned slightly.

"Sweet!" he commented. "Wanna take it for a ride with me?" he asked, nodding his head towards the bike. The blonde boy's smile faded somewhat, blinking once, and then twice before looking up at his mother.

"Can I?" he asked, hoping that he could. Sarah smiled down at him, sighing lightly as she did so.

"Well…why not?" she sighed. Steve was practically beaming when he heard this and quickly mounted his bike and took off. "Be back by 6 though!" she shouted as he pedaled away with his accomplice.

"I will!" he shouted over his shoulder as he rode away. "Thanks!" Steve turned to look forward and rode out of sight following Bucky. Sarah sighed exasperatedly, chuckling lightly and closing her eyes a second later.

"He's such a handful," she sighed to herself. "But, I'm glad that he had one friend his age at least." Alfred looked over at her. The blonde's brown eyes were fixated on the road ahead of the two. His blue eyes then looked up over there, a content smile crossing his face.

"Yeah," he sighed. He couldn't help but agree with her.

Sarah sighed once more. "Well," she looked up at him, now smiling somewhat more. "Want to help me with dinner?"

The man lightly smirked at the offer. "Sure!"

A second later, a somewhat heavy set man in his forties wearing a white striped shirt with suspenders and beige pants and had a bald spot on the top of his head came out the building. "Mr. Jones?" he asked in a moderately scruffy voice. Both Sarah and Alfred looked up from each other and faced the man at the door.

"Yeah?" Alfred asked, blinking curiously at the man.

"Telephone for ya!" and with that, he walked back inside, not caring to stand around and wait for the other man to follow. The representative sighed before turning back to Sarah, smiling indecently.

"Why don't you start without me and I'll catch up later, 'kay?" he asked. Sarah returned the smile and nodded, shrugging somewhat.

"Okay, see you up in a few." She stated as she turned for the door. He watched her walk in, smiling somewhat. When the door closed, he wondered what the hell he was still doing standing there. Sweat dropping at this, he briskly walked into the apartment complex.

Turning to the right after entering the building he saw the receiver for the black phone on top of a yellow phonebook. Taking a few quick steps towards it, Alfred picked up.

"Hello?"

_"ALFRED!"_

At this, the representative nearly jumped out of his skin. "A-Arthur?" he asked nervously, gulping lightly and was sweat dropping once more.

 _"WHERE THE_ BLOODY _HELL DID YOU GO TO?"_

Yup,  _definitely_  Arthur Kirkland.

"Uh, I had important business to attend to and you guys were wasting time so…" the American laughed nervously, now slightly fearing the Brit on the other side of the line.

 _"DO YOU KNOW WHAT IVAN_ DID _?"_ Alfred heard the British representative shiver from the other end. He was now slowly beginning to get annoyed. He was wasting his time,  _again_.

"Enlighten me," he added, leaning over the small wooden shelf that the phone was mounted to the wall over with his right hand fisted and against his hip while his left elbow leaned against the wall.

 _"HE MADE US WEAR_ DRESSES, ALFRED!  _DRESS-ES! IT WAS A BLOODY_ NIGHTMARE!  _WE EVEN HAD A BLOODY_ TEA PARTY  _IN THE GODDAM MEATING ROOM!"_

Alfred rolled his eyes and sighed annoyingly. "I told you that you shouldn't have made that bet with Russia having to go a week without Vodka, but I knew you wouldn't listen to me since you didn't know whether you were Protestant or Catholic anymore you were  _that_  drunk." The American representative was beginning to raise his voice to a certain degree.

_"YOU DON'T KNOW THE TORTURE-"_

"No, I  _don't_ , Iggy. Now,  _goodnight._ " Alfred hung up after that, cutting off the Brit completely. The American blew the air out of his lungs and then noticed a pair of eyes staring at him from the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw the fat man from before, looking at him while holding the open newspaper in his hands with a bland look in his eyes. "What?" Alfred shrugged his shoulders and asked as if defending himself. The man just shook his head and went back to reading his paper.

The more attractive man rolled his blue eyes and then ran to the elevator, pushing the  _" **6** "_ button and waiting for it anxiously for the second time that day.


	6. Oppression I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone." - Audrey Hepburn

**_~*~Thursday; September 14th, 1929 ~*~_ **

**9:30 PM**

Paperwork, paperwork, and well?  _More_  paperwork.  _Joyous._

Alfred sat at his desk, going as fast as his body would let him when it came to the papers. The short pile to the right is how much he had left. Meanwhile, the pile about the height of the office desk was how much he had done already. The representative groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.  _Only 150 more forms, reports, and referrals and such to fill out, how_ pleasant _._

The ringing of the black telephone on his desk had seemed to save his sanity. Shifting his eyes upwards and to a slant from the current form he had to fill out, he eyed the noisy contraption for a second before throwing down his pen and picking up the receiver with his writing hand. Sighing, he began to say the line that he'd been saying for what seemed to be "over hundreds of years" as he would normally put it. "United States of America Representative Alfred Jones speaking. May I help you?"

 _"Alfred, it's Sarah. Do have a minute to talk?"_  The female voice spoke on the other end of the line. The representative's face seemed to brighten up somewhat when he heard the woman's voice.

"Sarah," he seemed to enjoy saying her name right at that moment. "Nah, I got time. What'cha need?" Alfred leaned back in his seat, pulling back his glasses with his left hand. His eyes stared up at the ceiling.

 _"It's about Steve,"_  she replied, her voice moderately quieter now. The man's eyes widened, still staring at the ceiling before he looked down at the receiver in his right hand. He was still holding it to his right ear.

"What'cha mean?" He asked, worry automatically kicking in, but he tried remain calm.

_"He came home with a black eye today and a few bruises on his arms. I think he's being bullied but he won't talk about it to me."_

Alfred choked a little on his spit.  _What now?_

He cleared his throat. The representative could feel his blood boiling and his pulse racing. "School started on Wednesday, right?"

 _"Yeah,"_ Sarah replied on the other end of the line.

"Did you notice anything wrong with him then?"

There was a short pause on the other end before Alfred heard a reply.  _"Yeah. I noticed a bruise around his wrist that looked like he was grabbed harshly, but he still talked to me, not as much as before he started school though…"_

Everything clicked in Alfred's head, causing him to breathe out the air that was in his lungs in an annoyed fashion.

_"…You think he's being bullied, don't you?"_

"Yeah, I do." The man replied to Sarah's question, his tone giving away his emotional state at that current moment. He looked down at his lap, thinking of what to do. The silence between the two adults was almost unnerving for Alfred at that moment, and Sarah was probably the same way. And then, an idea popped into his head. "You want me to meet him at school tomorrow?"

_"Huh?"_

"Do you want me to pick him up tomorrow?" he asked, a small smile crept onto his face. He could hear an ever so light  _gasp_  come out of the woman's mouth from his end.

_"You would do that? But what about your job? Your paperwork? Won't you-"_

He cut her off, her having said the "P" word that made his eye now twitch.

"It's all good," he cut in. "I'm almost done right now, so I should be free tomorrow." Alfred's smile widened. He had to resist the urge to chuckle lightly right at that moment. "Now," he sighed. "Get some sleep and  _don't worry_. I'll take care of it."

 _"…I really_ don't  _know how to thank you, Alfred. I really don't."_

"Don't worry about it." The smile on the man's face widened. "You two are like the family I never had."

There was a long pause on the other end.  _"…T-Thank you…" **CLICK.**_

"Huh?" Alfred held up the receiver in front of his face to look at it, baffled for a second before he realized that she hung up. He sighed heavily, looking at it one last time before putting it back down onto its perch on the telephone. The representative then stared at the stack of paper work that he had to do.

"Sometimes this job  _sucks_ ," he groaned before sighing heavily once more. The paper work, after all,  _wasn't_  going to do itself.

* * *

**_The Roger's Apartment_ **

Sarah slowly removed the receiver of the black telephone from her ear and placed it on its perch, ending the call. Her eyes stared at her feet and the floor.

 _"You two are like the family I never had…"_ the words kept ringing in her head. Some sense of guilt managed to make itself at home at the bottom of her stomach, making her want to throw up somewhat. She didn't know why though. Her grip on the receiver that she still had in her hand tightened. Her brown eyes narrowed at the floor as she bit the insides of her lips. It was grief; pure and utter  _grief_ , which summed up to one thing and one thing only.

Sarah slowly looked up, realizing that she was now slowly opening Steve's bedroom door. Brown orbs dilated slightly as the light above the kitchen table was let into the room, but just a crack of it. Steve could be seen sleeping peacefully at that moment. She gazed at him, her thoughts at that time consuming her, letting the sadness wipe across her face; eyes softening and her teeth sunk into her lips a little more. When it came down to the exact cause of her grief, it was this:  _She missed Joe_ …  _a lot…_

The blonde woman took a sharp intake of breath. Her left hand rose to cover her hand, her cries muffled by it. And once again, she bowed her head, crying lightly. She already lost Joseph, she didn't want to lose her only child with him either. And so, she stood there, crying by the doorway of the boy's room for his sake. She was all he had in this world, and she was on the brink of breaking down in front of him at this rate.

* * *

**_Friday; September 15th, 1929_ **

It was three o'clock. The bell rung throughout the elementary school, signaling the children's freedom for the day. All the little children rushed to their cubbies and grabbed their stuff before running to the front entrance.

Steve could be seen walking down the stairs slowly while the other kids were rushing down past them. He didn't want to leave the safety of the doors of the building. He was vulnerable now, exposed, and weak. No one would be there for him. And now, he would have to start his lonely walk home. No one to defend him from those kids who were twice his age and size. Why did he have to have all of these medical problems?

A familiar figure caught the boy's eye through his peripheral vision. His Uncle Alfred automatically came to mind, but it couldn't be him, could it? Little Steve's body seemed to move all on its own. His head lowered itself a small amount, followed by his pale blue irises shifting a smidge to the right. Pale blue eyes then widened. It  _was_  him.

The grown man's smile seemed to widen at Steve noticing him through the crowd. It seemed at that moment, they were the only two there, just for that brief moment.

"Hey, Dude!"

Steve snapped out of the trance. He blinked a few times before finally realizing that his uncle called out his nickname for him.

"Uncle Al!" There were less children now, most of them seemed as if they teleported to another dementia.

_One step, two steps…_

Before Stevie knew it, he was already half way down the steps.

_Four steps, five steps…_

He was down at the bottom steps, both of his thumbs wrapped around his backpack straps as he ran the extra two or three steps. The blonde boy let the straps go and extended his arms. Alfred didn't look at him in shock at all. He seemed to know that this was going to happen. The representative's smile dilated a tiny bit as his arms that were clad with the leather jacket that he was wearing opened up and removed themselves from the jacket pockets they were lodged in.

Nine year old Steve then leaped up into his uncle's open arms that even though he was skinnier than most kids, his hug made the grown and well-built man take a step or two back on the concrete sidewalk in front of the elementary school building. Alfred's eyes bugged out a bit at this, but he quickly dismissed it, enjoying the reaction that his nephew was giving him.

Steve just stood there, hugging his uncle as if he would disappear within the next few seconds with a wide smile on his face. It had only been a little over a week since he had seen him, but he had missed him  _that_  much.

"Champ, how've ya been?" the uncle asked, laughing a little bit as he voiced the question.

"Alright," Steve replied happily. He leaned into his uncle's chest a little bit more, enjoying the moment of seeing him there. Something then dawned on the boy: _Why was he there?_

"Why are you here?" he asked, curiously looking up at his uncle's face. Alfred raised both of his eyebrows, apparently taken aback by the question. The grown man was mentally panicking on the inside. He felt like he'd been caught...Steve just kept staring up at him, blinking and waiting for an answer, which did  _not_  help Alfred out here. There was a short pause before the representative gulped lightly, mentally deciding on his answer.

"Just wanted to surprise you, Dude!" he answered. The next thing Steve knew was that he was being pulled into a headlock. "Is that such a bad thing?" Alfred growled playfully as he began to give Steve a light noogie on his head. The little boy at this rate couldn't stop giggling. Alfred decided to stop after a short while, concerned about his now mild asthma. "Alright, Champ, how about we start heading home, alright?" he asked the little boy.

Steve nodded and ran to the bicycle rack to unlock his bike. He walked the red bike over that was still looking somewhat new. The blonde boy joined up with his uncle and the two began walking down the sidewalk back to the apartment complex. "Hey, Uncle Al."

"Hmm?" Alfred looked down at his nephew.

"Is it me, or is your hair getting lighter?" Steve looked up at his uncle when he asked the question. Alfred raised both of his eyebrows at this and then looked up, as if he was trying to see his hair.

"You think so?" the man asked the boy. Conversation then dragged along as the two chatted on the long walk. They were now a good seventy five feet from the school, but if one were standing where they met up earlier, they could hear their laughter, even though they were  _that_ far away.

* * *

The two had spent around twenty minutes walking home. Traffic was still as hyper as ever as they walked along the sidewalks. The two were walking side by side down the pavement, passing by other pedestrians rushing to their destination and cars speeding past them on the black pavement. The traffic was a lot better than it was the previous year, the last year of prosperity for the "Roaring 20s". Barely anyone, if at all, was holding a job, therefore, less commuting in the bustling city of Brooklyn.

Alfred and Steve were about to pass an alley way when the nine year old stopped walking. The grown man took a few steps ahead of him before realizing that the boy wasn't walking with him anymore. "Hmm?" Alfred stopped and turned somewhat; looking over his shoulder to see Steve staring at him.

"This way," was all the nine year old uttered before turning down the alleyway, still walking his bike beside him. The US rep. stared at the boy, blinking somewhat before snapping out of it and began briskly walking to catch up with him.

"Hey, Steve!" Alfred shouted, seeing that the boy was a good twenty feet away from him. The boy automatically froze, not bothering to turn around. This was only adding more fuel to the fire in the grown man's mind about something being wrong.

"Something wrong, Dude?" Alfred stopped about five or six feet from the back of Steve's red bicycle. The boy only bowed his head. He was now looking down at the ground.

"Steve…" the uncle went to move to the boy's side, but stopped, seeing something: the  ** _bandages_**  on his arms. Alfred froze, seeing the cloth wrapped around the small boy's wrists and arms. There was a little bit of purple leaking out from underneath the bandage on the boy's left wrist.

Looking up, he saw the boy still had a little bit of a swollen left cheek. The boy knew that his uncle was observing the damage done over the past two or three days. He turned his head to the right, too ashamed of not being able to handle his own problems.

"Leave me alone…" the boy murmured underneath his breath. Alfred took a step back, apparently surprised by what Steve has said to him.

"Well, well, look what we have  _here~_ …" A loud voice sang out sadistically. Steve didn't look up, but Alfred did. It was a group of scruffy-looking boys, all three of them older, taller, and stronger than his nine year old nephew. "If it ain't little, ol'  _Stevie_." All three boys laughed and the representative looked down at the blonde little boy.

Steve gripped the handlebars more tightly now. He didn't know what to do in the mist of the  _shame_  and  _weakness_  he was feeling at that current moment. Uncle Alfred then looked back up at the boys and furrowed his brows. His pale blue eyes were burning with anger behind the pair of glasses that he wore. The grown man clenched his jaw and fists, blood boiling with rage and the urge to beat the crap out of those kids now slowly consuming him.

The puzzle pieces now fitted together in his head. Steve Rogers, his nephew, was being  _bullied_  by these punks, who had the  _gall_  to do what they were doing. Out of the corner of his mouth, Alfred breathed out the air that was in his lungs. He wasn't going to let those  _brats_  get away with this.


	7. Oppression II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time." – Margery Williams

There were three of them. The tallest of the trio was leaning on his bent leg which rested on one of the old wooden crates at the end of the alleyway. The grey and white wool Irish cap that was atop his head covered his eyes somewhat, being a little too big for him. The apparent leader of the group wore a pair of denim overalls and a light blue collared shirt underneath it. The two slightly shorter boys to his left and in back of him wore stained white tee shirts and denim jeans, both had their arms crossed.

The leader raised the visor of his cap with his finger, smirking widely as he eyed nine year old Stevie. The boy's brown eyes shifted upwards and to the left, now focusing on the older man beside him. They widened for a second, studying him before returning to their original state. "Oh, who's this?" the boy asked, eyes glinting slightly under the visor of his hat. At the remark, Steve snapped his head up. Anger began to swim through his bloodstream.

"Leave him outta this, Tommy!" the blonde boy shouted. Startled, the four other sets of eyes in the alley dilated and Alfred's blue eyes shifted to look down at the little boy.

"Steve…" the grown man's voice came out in a soft whisper, barely heard by the boy beside him as Alfred looked at him through his spectacles. After a second of staring at Steve, his head snapped up to look at the group of three after hearing a low and sinister chuckle.

"Your Daddy has to come help you out? Is  _that_  it?" Tommy cackled. The two in back of him joined in. Steve's eyes softened, tears quickly began to appear on the rim of his eyes as he bit his upper lip nervously before looking down, bowing his head in shame.

Tommy took his foot off of the wooden crate and began to walk towards the duo, the henchmen still continued to follow him. Their pace was slow, almost as if they were trying to intimidate the nine year old more and more with each passing second. They slowly walked forward, their stride being of a lion sneaking up on its prey.

Steve closed his eyes, hoping that this would end soon while trying to hold the tears back that were still dancing in his eyes. A small whimper escaped him, which didn't go unnoticed by the three and Alfred.

The three stopped, and Tommy started to snicker again. "Awww," he spoke loudly, voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked back at the two henchmen,Adam and Robert, who then started to laugh along with their "boss". "He's  _crying._  How  _adorable._ " Tommy made a vomiting noise, causing Adam and Robert's laughing to escalate in volume. That was the breaking point for Steve. He couldn't take it anymore. He cried, head looming over the handlebar of his red bike.

Alfred stared, blood boiling with the temperature rising by the second. His whole body shook with anger. His hands were tight fists, knuckles white and a drop of blood trickled out of his palm and past his fingers. Right now, he was comparable to a bull with the way his body shook as he was getting ready to charge at them, those little  _bastards_. It was unforgivable; absolutely  _unforgivable_.

Alfred quickly started to unbutton his suit jacket and discarded, throwing it onto the bike. He began walking forward, unbuttoning the cuffs for his sleeve with each step he took. Steve heard his footsteps, but he couldn't look up, assuming that he was going to be left all alone by the only person that could help him right now, but he couldn't blame him. He was a  _wimp_ ,  _coward, chicken, weakling._  All of the above.

"Huh," Tommy scoffed, his brown eyes giving Alfred a mocking look as he saw him approach them, and rather  _quickly_  at that. "What're  _you_  gonna do,  _Old man_?" Alfred's silence spoke for his anger all on its own. Robert and Adam then felt a stab of fear when he kept walking over and now was cracking his knuckles. Tommy, however, chose to remain foolish and continued to smirk as the said "Old man" was now fast approaching.

And now, the next thing would give the three boys nightmares for the rest of their lives; Alfred smiling. Oh, sure, Alfred smiling was  _usually_  full of happiness, life, and carefree, but not  _now_. The way Alfred was smiling at that moment…it could be compared to a devil's smile. Hairs rose on the boys' skin when they heard his chuckling.

Robert and Adam were to paralyzed to run, stone statues of their own fear. Tommy turned to run, however, but he was immediately jerked back by Alfred's hand grabbing the collar of his shirt. "Where do you think  _you're_  going?" the representative asked the boy that was probably at most thirteen or twelve. Tommy's brown eyes turned to look around him, which proved to be a  _great_  mistake. The next thing that the poor boy knew, he was being thrown against the brick wall.

Tommy's skull bounced off of the wall first, followed by the rest of his body. He was then shoved back against the wall, his eyes opened, and then widened when he saw the anger that burned in the man's pale blue eyes. It was almost overwhelming.

"If I ever catch you anywhere  _near_  him again, or let alone  _see_  you again, your body will wind up in the bay, understood?" Alfred growled the statement at the boy, who was now shaking in fear, terrified of the fact that he may carry out his threat. " _UNDERSTOOD?"_

Tommy rapidly shook his head, hoping that he would be spared, and he would be. Alfred's mouth went into a thin line before he let go of the collar of the boy's shirt, dropping him. Tommy fell a good foot or two from where he was pinned against the wall onto the concrete pavement of the alleyway. He turned to run, and the grown man stepped to the side, getting out of his way. The boy ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

"C'mon, let's get out of here!" he ordered his henchmen as he ran past them. Adam and Robert stared at Alfred in fear for a moment before they followed the boy out of the alley and around the corner to the left. Alfred was pretty sure that Steve would never see them again. Speaking of which…

The representative sighed heavily before turning around, smiling at the blonde boy's completely shocked expression. The boy had his mouth open, lips slightly parted and trembling. Steve's blue eyes were wide with startled fear as he stared at his uncle. It was clear that he really  _couldn't_  believe what just happened. He never realized that his uncle could be like  _that_.

The adult man breathed out a light sigh, smiling contently before beginning to stroll over. Steve's expression didn't change as the grown man came closer with each step. Alfred seemed to have calmed down from his murderous impulse from a few moments ago, Steve could see this. His eyes followed his uncle's movements as he walked over.

Alfred stopped in front of his nephew about two or three feet away. "Sorry, Dude," the light brown haired man sighed with softened eyes as he raised his hand. Gravity took its toll on the appendage and let it fall on top of the nine year old's head. The sudden impact caused the little boy to close his eyes. Steve softly opened them a second later and looked up, seeing the soft smile on his uncle's face. "Didn't mean for you to see me like that." The man tilted his head to the side and laughed as he rubbed the boy's head lightly. "I guess Ivan has more of an influence on me than I thought."

Steve blinked his eyes, fear gone and curiousness kicking in. "Who's Ivan?" he inquired, looking up at his uncle still. Alfred blinked and stared at Little Stevie for a moment, realizing that his nephew was no longer afraid of him now at this point. The representative chuckled lightly.

"Ivan Braginski, the representative of Russia," Alfred replied. A sudden feeling of dread and fear then made him shiver from an unpleasant thought. "The man scares  _everyone_  in the World Meetings." The US Rep. shivered again, which caused the nine year old to giggle lightly.

"You're not scared of him, are you, Uncle Al?" Steve smiled up at his uncle a little more now.

"Nah," the man with the spectacles looked around, trying to come up with an excuse within a few seconds. Luckily for him, he did. "He just creeps everybody out sometimes…" Alfred looked away again, shivering again from  _yet_  another unpleasant thought, causing the boy to laugh at his actions once more. Seeing him laugh, Alfred sighed happily once more before nodding his head towards the end of the alleyway. "C'mon, let's go home." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Steve nodded his head eagerly and started to walk alongside the grownup. "Hey, Uncle Al,"

"Hmm?" Uncle Al looked down at the boy.

Steve looked up at Alfred. "How did you get that brave?"

The uncle stopped walking, staring at his nephew in curiosity. "Whad'ya mean?"

Steve looked back down, slightly bowing his head in shame once more. "You were able to stand up to them when I wasn't able to…"

The man sighed and smiled before kneeling down and putting both of his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Steve." The boy looked at him, thinking that he was going to get yelled at by him for asking such a stupid question. "For one, I am  _a lot_  older than you. I'm older than I look. Secondly," Alfred looked away for a sec, trying to figure out how to word something before explaining it to the child in front of him. "My job requires me to be demanding and for me to try to get things my way. I have to act like an asshole in order for people to listen to me." The representative laughed while speaking the last sentence.

Steve laughed too. They way his uncle told him things sometimes made something that was supposed to be serious to sound like it was a joke all along. He had that kind of gift, which in a way drew him to his uncle. He could make him feel better, no matter what.

The boy smiled lightly. "You think I could learn to be like that?"

"Definitely, Dude. Definitely." Alfred then raised his hand and placed it atop Steve's head before ruffling his hair lightly. The boy giggled a little more. "Just remember one thing, kid."

Steve stared curiously at his uncle. "What's that?"

"Remember that I'll always be there for you, kid."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did, the boy looked like he was practically beaming. Steve was smiling from ear to ear. He dropped his bike and hugged his uncle, taking him by surprise. The bicycle fell to the ground with a metallic thud. Alfred looked at the boy with concerned eyes. A sniffle could be heard a second later. "I will." The boy sniffled some more. Alfred smiled lightly and held the boy closer to him as the boy cried lightly. "Thank you, Uncle Alfred." The boy pulled back lightly, looking his uncle in the eye with his red-rimmed eyes.

The man smiled lightly, looking at him with softened blue eyes. "No prob, Dude." Alfred raised his hand up and ruffled the boy's hair again. "No prob." Steve was now smiling back.

* * *

Sarah was busy drying a large plate with her red towel when there was a knock at the door. She stopped and slowly turned her head towards the door. The knocking sound reached her ears again. "Coming!" she hollered out quickly, tossing the towel lightly to the right onto the counter and untied the apron from around her waist before raising it over her head and heading towards the door. With a spring in her step, Sarah practically jogged up to the apartment's front door and opened it, panting slightly, only to be greeted by a pleasant surprise.

It was Alfred and Steve, standing in the outside hallway, both with wide grins on their faces. The duo was laughing lightly. "We're home!" both of them spoke. Sarah couldn't help but laugh lightly at the sight.

"Welcome home!" she greeted back, still smiling widely and laughing somewhat.

Sarah held her arms open and without another word, Steve ran into them, hugging her back just as tightly. She pushed him back lightly to look him in the eye. "So, how was school?" she asked.

"It was good." Steve smiled warmly at his mother. Sarah looked up at Alfred, giving him a somewhat questioning look. The man smiled reassuringly at her and lowered his hand to ruffle the boy's hair once more. The oppression was over, for now.


	8. Saying Grace I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Children need models rather than critics." —Joseph Joubert

**_November 21th, 1929_ **

**_At The Elementary School_ **

Today was a  _special_  occasion at the Brooklyn learning institution. It was "Bring A Parent to Work Day". And since Thanksgiving was around the corner, it seemed "appropriate" to hold this event. After all, today  _was_ the last day of school for the elementary students. Fall leaves and drawings of pilgrims and Indians and turkeys lined the walls and windows of the institution.

The teacher, Mrs. Buckner, stood in the corner of the room by the back wall of the classroom by the other adults there. Most were middle aged men, some wearing scruffy clothing while few wore clean and pressed suits. Some mothers were there, looking somewhat decent in their dresses. They didn't have jobs, anymore if they even had any to begin with.

"…and that's about it." The gentleman standing in front of the class, Mr. Lucas, smiled a bit nervously in front of the youngsters, wearing a clean and pressed black suit with a bit of a gut hanging over the waistline of his suit pants. He was a banker, and would still hopefully be one by the end of the week.

The adults in the back began to clap lightly, followed by Mrs. Buckner and the elementary students occupying the small desks in the classroom.

Steve sat at his desk, fumbling with his hands nervously. What if he didn't show? What if he was late;  _again_? What if something happened to him that prevented him from showing? What if-

Bucky leaned over to his left to whisper something into the blonde kid's ear. "Hey, Steve, when's your uncle getting here?"

The blonde boy shook his head and lightly shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. He was supposed to be here by now," he lightly uttered back in response, voice threatening to stutter a bit. Nine year old Steve bit lightly on his lower lip as his eyes shifted back to the front when he saw his black haired and green eyed teacher walk to the front. She stopped; a pleasant smile on her face as she began to address the class.

"Now, next up is…Steve Rogers and," her emerald eyes turned to stare at the little nervous boy. "Who is your person?"

At the question, about all of the kids' heads turned to look at him. Bucky's black eyes just shifted, but none the less, they were  _still_  looking at his best friend. Steve gulped lightly as his hands balled up into light fists as they rested against the wood of the desk's top.

Hearing running footsteps coming down the hallway from outside the door, some parents turned their heads to listen more closely. There was then a loud skidding noise followed by a grunted "Shit! I missed it!" emitted lowly. The two men, both in pressed suits, looked at each other before looking back at the door.

And…right on cue, it opened,  _abruptly_  too. Being  _slammed_  open seemed to be more appropriate apparently, though. Considering that one of the two men were now trapped behind it with their body twitching to give off the only sign of life behind the wooden door. Yup, s _lammed_  was more appropriate.

At the noise, the kids turned around in their desks, eyes finally of Steve. The little boy turned around himself, curious about what that noise just now was. A light brown haired man stood in the doorway, panting heavily while holding a brown paper bag with a cardboard handle weaved around the wire inside of it. His left hand kept the door propped open, along with keeping the man squished between the heavy wooden door and the wall. The man standing next to him by the other side of the doorway was now gawking at the door now with bugging eyes and hairs standing up all over his body.

"Sorry I'm late," the grown man sighed out as he straightened himself out. He removed his hand from the door, letting it shut now. "There was an accident a few blocks back and I was stuck directing traffic for a while…" he laughed nervously towards the end.

Steve could be seen raising an eyebrow from where he was sitting while all other pairs of eyes widened slightly. The boy then sighed lightly, in relief. His uncle sure knows how to make a first impression…

Speaking of which, there was now a slight dent in the wall behind the door as it slowly creaked shut and revealed the man that was trapped behind it with a now bloody nose. The looks on the children's faces changed from curious ones to horrified ones, as if they saw someone being murdered.

"Hmm?" Alfred blinked and then heard a  _THUD_  as the man fell to the floor, swearing that he saw chirping blue birds fly around his head. The representative turned around, only to nearly jump out of his skin for a second upon seeing the sight.

Alfred looked back up at the class, and then to the concerned adults eyeing the unconscious man and then back to the class. He pointed to himself. "Did I do that?" blinking curiously once more. It took a few seconds, but the kids started to snicker. All except Steve, of course. He heaved a heavy sigh before lightly letting his eyes roll. But he couldn't help but laugh a little. He wouldn't want his uncle any other way.

"Children!" Mrs. Buckner scolded, too bad no one listened to her. A few adults snickered as well. The kids immediately silenced themselves, they're eyes bugged out somewhat as well. This caused some adults to smirk with a bit of amusement. Well,  _this_  was going to be interesting in the least.

* * *

"The name's Alfred F. Jones!" the representative spoke loudly and proudly. He was wearing a large smile on his face as he was presenting himself in front of the small student body. The small children eyed him curiously, obviously wanting him to continue on with his introduction about himself. "My occupation is a representative for our beloved country!"

A few "ooh"s and "ahh"s could be heard from the children. Even the adults, including Mrs. Buckner, stared at him as if he was made out of gold. Steve just sat at his desk, smiling like an idiot while everyone else gawked and stared. He knew he had the best uncle in the world. Hands down, he was the luckiest kid in the room, even though some of the other kids came from better-off families.

Alfred stared at the nephew for a moment. Steve stared back, smile widening slightly. The uncle then continued on. "My job requires me to meet with various people from around the world, such as people from China, Japan, Germany, Italy, France, England, Russia…" he lightly shivered at this part for a brief moment before pressing on. "And even from Africa!"

More sounds came from the children. They were speechless right now. It was like telling a ghost story; they thought he was  _that_  interesting. "I have to work alongside other representatives from these other countries and places to make sure that what we want to accomplish benefits everyone else." Alfred paused, knowing that these kids were still little and needed some time to process the oncoming information that he was giving them. "Any questions?"

One kid, a girl with blonde hair with her hair tied up, raised her hand. Alfred nodded his head at her, giving her the OK to voice the question.

"Why do you have a different last name than Steve? You're his father, aren't you?"

Alfred blinked once, then twice, and then once more before he couldn't hold it in anymore. He chuckled lightly. The class watched curiously for an answer, even the adults did.

"Well, you see," the American representative started, still lightly chuckling. He stopped, but Alfred couldn't help it but have a widened smile. "I'm not his father."

The adults in the back raised their eyebrows at this while the kids yelled "What?" Steve just slapped his forehead from where he was sitting while Alfred nervously laughed while rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'm actually his uncle. Hehehe," Alfred's nervous voice continued. The adults in the back raised their other eyebrow at this time. Apparently, the resemblance between himself and the boy was too uncanny to believe his explanation.

The representative then held up the paper bag, still smiling a bit nervously. "Who wants some French Frost Pastries?"

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Uncle Al." Steve looked up at his uncle, smiling contently with sparkling blue eyes. Alfred chuckled lightly again with his hand on the boy's back as they walked down the sidewalk of the busy street.

"It's no problem, Dude." Alfred then looked down at the nine year old. Snow was already on the ground, acting as a blanket of white on Brooklyn's buildings and busy streets. A light snowfall was also coming down at the time. Steve and his uncle were taking the long way home, enjoying the snowfall view and the time to themselves with no one else around them except for a passing car or two on occasion. Gray clouds covered the sky as the snow fell, blocking out the sun almost entirely.

It was two days before Thanksgiving. Normally, people would be bustling around for getting food and other necessities for their annual banquet of the sort, but the busted economy prevented such from happening. Such a shame for an American tradition to not be able to be celebrated.

"Are they having the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade this year?" the boy asked, blinking curiously.

Alfred sighed loathingly. "Afraid not, Kid." He smiled sadly at Steve.

"Aww," the blonde boy pouted. "I wanted to go this year!"

"I know, but maybe there's next year?" the uncle was now smiling and raising an eyebrow. The boy laughed a little before replying.

"Maybe." he looked down and forward at what was in front of him. Alfred stared at him for a little more before doing the same.

A short while had then passed. They managed to cross a crosswalk and were now pressing forward. Steve then suddenly stopped, something catching the corner of his eye. He looked up immediately succumbed to some sort of trance.

"Hmm?" Alfred looked down at the boy, curious as to why he had abruptly stopped. The realization of him looking at something through the shop window ran through his head before looking up at the shop window. It was a toy shop, and Alfred knew that the boy was staring at the one thing that he wanted for Christmas: a toy soldier.

The two stood in front of the shop window for what seemed for ages. Other pedestrians and cars seemed to pass by them without a care in the world. Alfred then smiled and ruffled the boy's hair lightly. "Let's get going," he spoke, smiling lightly. It took a second or two, but the boy looked up from the toy.

Steve forced a smile on his face and nodded lightly. "Okay."

Alfred kept a poker face on and put his hand back on the boy's back and lead him along, away from the shop and down the sidewalk. He could tell that Steve forced the smile on his face back there. The representative looked down at the boy a bit sadly.  _Poor kid…Sarah probably doesn't have a lot at the moment… maybe I…_ When he knew that Steve wasn't paying attention to his actions a few steps later, he looked back.

_So that's what he wants for Christmas…_


	9. Saying Grace II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In a world full of people who couldn't care less, be someone who couldn't care more." - Author Unknown

**November 23rd, 1929**

"And  _don't_  come back until you get  _everything_!" and with that final phrase said, Sarah threw the two out of the apartment, Alfred holding Steve close to him as he landed flat on his butt. The wooden door slammed shut behind the two. Alfred sighed.

"Remind me to  _never_  get in the way of a woman doing housework," the uncle spoke, groaning slightly as he looked down at his nephew with a nervous look. The nine year old snickered lightly before nodding his head in agreement.

To put what happened  _bluntly_ , Alfred was being an  _idiot_ , as  _usual_ , unfortunately. See, he agreed that he would pick up everything needed  _before_  he arrived at the Rogers' apartment. But alas, he showed up, _empty handed_. And with Sarah being a  _very_  busy woman for this holiday and making sure that everything wasclean and presentable, she got, well,  _pissed_.

"Let's see…" Alfred held up a small slip of white lined paper that had neat script writing in the form of a list.

 **\- Turkey**  
-Gravy  
-Potatoes  
-Stuffing  
-Carrots  
-Beans  
-Yam  
-Apple Cider  
…

The representative read the list, eyes skimming over the neat handwriting before sighing exasperatedly. "Alright," Alfred broke the silence with his voice and then looked over at his nephew. "Let's get going." He scooted the boy out of his lap and then stood up, grabbing Steve's hand.

"But, Uncle Al…" the two were already walking towards the elevator. Alfred didn't stop. He merely looked over his shoulder at the boy. The nine year old continued. "All of the stores would be closed today! There's no way…"

"Boy, there's gotta be at least  _one_  store open today." The uncle cut off his nephew as he pressed the  **"1"**  button on the side of the metal doors.

Steve swallowed. "You sure?" the metal doors opened with a  _DING!_  The two then stepped inside and then turned around, facing the doors.

Alfred chuckled lightly at this before looking down, smirking lightly. "When has anything ever gone wrong, Stevie?"

There was then a pause. The doors began sliding closed. Alfred then looked down at the boy again, this time with a bit of a skeptical look. "Don't answer that." The metal box's doors than joined at the middle and the elevator began its descent to the main lobby.

* * *

The walk was peaceful. No one besides the uncle and nephew were out on the streets. Dull gray clouds covered the sky above while the icy blanket of snow covered the crosswalk and roadways, leaving patches exposed here and there. Alfred walked alongside the blonde boy, hands in his leather jacket pockets and staring off into space. His blue eyes then trailed down towards the boy who was wearing a knitted cap with matching mittens and a big, poofy, winter coat.

Then, out of the blue, Steve began running forward. The representative's eyes widened and his mouth opened to say something, but he didn't have the chance to speak. It took a second or two later, but the blonde boy stopped running and gradually came to a halt,  _by a snow bank_.

Steve turned around, revealing that mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Alfred knew all too well what it meant.  _He wouldn't…_

"S-Steve," the representative nervously uttered into the cold air. His breath became a translucent puff of air in the winter's sharp breeze that seemed to cut in between the two. The boy knelt down and grabbed a handful of snow, now carefully forming it into what seemed to be a snowball. Alfred gulped when he realize what the youngster was up to. The adult laughed nervously. "Are you-"

_SMACK!_

"Steve-"

_SMACK!_

Alfred sighed. Negotiation seemed futile at this point.

The boy's giggles could be heard as snow slowly slid down Alfred's face. The expression on the man's face could be clearly seen as an  _annoyed_  one. The representative's eyes shifted to the side. Oh,  _joy._

A wide and crooked smile then creped its way onto the light brown haired man's face. His eyes then shifted back at the boy. It was now Steve's turn to feel a tinge of fear. Well, this wasn't going to go unchallenged, was it?

"U-Uncle Al?" Steve swallowed nervously as he watched his beloved uncle kneel down and start forming snowballs at a rather quick pace. With the instinct to run finally kicking in, he turned to run away. But, unfortunately for him, it was  _too late_.

_SMACK!_

The blonde boy yelped as his head met the brute force of a tightly compressed snowball meeting his not so compressed skull.  _Ouch._ Alfred could be heard ten to fifteen feet away from the nine year old, cackling like a crazed hyena with both of his hands on his stomach that began to hurt from so much laughter. And with Alfred being himself, he slipped on ice that he didn't see.

Automatically, he stopped laughing when he realized that he was no longer touching ground. "Hmm?" it was then that Alfred realized that he was falling. He collided with the ground,  _butt first_. Steve stared, blinking curious eyes as he watched the man. First, the only thing that left the fallen man's mouth were noises barely audible, but then…"AHHHHHHHHAHAHAAAAAA! OWIE!" Steve sweat dropped at seeing his uncle wale and cry like a baby-

Whoever said he wasn't one?

The boy sighed before proceeding to laugh his head off. The uncle stopped crying, teary eyed still, and looked up at his nephew. "How can you be laughing at this? You're so mean, Dude! Waaahhhhh!" Alfred went back to sobbing.

Steve stopped laughing. A bright smile stayed on his face, though. "Aw, c'mon, Uncle Al!" the boy walked over, hands in his poofy coat pockets and an amused smirk on his face. "You want a turkey dinner, don't you?"

Alfred stopped crying abruptly, like the words had struck a chord with him. And they did. It was faster than a blink of an eye that the boy's uncle shot up and began dashing forward, dragging the boy along with him who seemed to be terrified for his life all over again.

"Dude, let's go!"

Steve sighed but then smiled a bit. Ya gotta love this guy. Then again…

_SMACK!_

Maybe you shouldn't love him as much when as he rounded the turn on the sidewalk, you wound up hitting a street lamp post,  _with your crotch._

* * *

The door opened and the bell fixed to it rung to alert the owner of the patrons coming to visit. An old woman, silver hair up in a bun with a pink shawl and long floral dress on, looked up from a book she was reading to look at the man and the boy who entered her store. "Can I help you with something, boys?"

Alfred looked up from the boy who currently was walking as slow as a turtle through the doorway to the silver haired woman behind the counter. "Last minute Thanksgiving shopping," he smiled in reply. The woman gave an understanding look and sat back down behind the counter. The smile instantly faded away from the man's face, though. Looking on the shelves of the small store that they looked around for a while for, most of them were completely  _empty_.

The man sighed lightly and grabbed Steve's hand before walking off to one small aisle. "C'mon." The aisle didn't have much, aside from dust. Alfred pulled out the small slip of paper with the needed items out again. His blue eyes glanced down, mouth wording the foods on the list. The rep. looked up, eyeing a can of beans. He grabbed it and moved down the aisle a little, slowly looking around for what they needed.

"I found the turkey!"

Alfred turned around to see the boy holding a big 10lbs. turkey. He sighed lightly, smiling weakly. "Bring it up to the counter."

"Right!" the boy trotted off, as fast as possible with the state his crotch was in and all. The grown man picked up a can of gravy and then reached over for a box of stuffing before following behind him, already having the vegetables at hand.

* * *

"Have a Happy Thanksgiving you two!" the old woman smiled kindly at the two.

"Thank you! You too!" the boy added as he made a grab for the bag. It was lifted up though, just as his fingers were going to touch the coarse brown paper. "Huh?" Steve looked up, seeing Alfred's twinkling blue eyes look down as he held the heavy bag right above the boy. "Aww," the boy pouted slightly. The man chuckled lightly as he adjusted the bag so he was holding it to his chest with one arm wrapped around it.

The man's right hand then found its way onto Steve's head to ruffle the boy's hair. "Bag's too heavy for ya, Son." The boy turned around to face his uncle properly. Meanwhile, in the midst of the moment, the old woman smiled behind the counter at the two, having the idea that they were a close father/son pair. Alfred then nodded towards the door. "Why don't you wait by the door for a moment?"

Steve was  _baffled_  by the request at first, to say the least. But, he complied, nodding his head and then running off. The woman's old and aging eyes followed the boy and stared at the shelf that he passed that was now blocking her sight of him. "He's a good kid." She claimed in a soft and quiet voice. Alfred's smile widened slightly at the compliment.

"Yeah, he is," he agreed, his azure eyes now resting where the old woman's were fixed. She then looked up at the young man.

"Take care of him."

Alfred smiled back. "I will, but first…" The rep. set the grocery bag back down onto the counter and took out his wallet from his pocket, fishing out some money. When he found the adequate number of bills, he took them out and handed them to the woman; $1500USD rested in the representative's hand. He looked at her a bit eagerly and extended his hand out a bit more, urging her to take the money.

The woman stared down at the money in complete shock. Her surprised eyes shifted upwards to look at Alfred as he extended his hand a little more. "I…I-I can't take this…"

The light brown haired man's smile softened a bit, and so did his eyes that rested behind his spectacles. "I need to look after my own too, you know."

The old woman's eyes widened a bit as she processed this information.  _His own…?_

The bell tied to the shop door snapped her out of her thought bubble. She looked in the door's direction just in time to see the door close and the pair pass in front of the store front windows and heading wherever they needed to go. She looked down at the one thousand and five hundred dollar bills that lie on her counter.

Frail hands slowly lowered themselves to pick up the pieces of money as if they weren't real.  _But they were_. The store owner looked up at the door longingly and grateful. She brought the paper money close to her chest and held it there; head bowed down as she silently said her thanks. Miracles really do happen, huh?

"Thank you,  _America_ ," she whispered quietly.

* * *

It could be seen a while later that Steve was holding the door open for his uncle as he walked into the apartment. Sarah briskly walked over from the kitchen sink to the mini-hallway that was defined by a small wall from the doorway. The blonde woman sighed heavily, seeing the man's arms shake somewhat while carrying the bag over to the table and setting it down with a thud. Her hands automatically went to her hips.

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd gotten this stuff  _before_  you came here!" she chided. And as per usual, Alfred smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Well, I'm not perfect, ya know." He laughed nervously. The woman sighed and looked down at the bag.

"Might as well get started now." Sarah picked it up, scooping it up into both of her palms. "You're lucky I don't kick you out for before!" and with that response, she trotted off towards one of the clear kitchen counters to begin cooking the meal.

Alfred blinked, acting as if he was oblivious as to what had just transpired. Steve walked over to his uncle's side, ridden of his outdoor attire and pulled at the leather jacket's sleeve. As expected, the uncle looked down. "We can go in my room and play monopoly," the nephew suggested.

The man smiled lightly. "Sure." It could be seen a second or two later that the nephew was dragging the man behind him through the kitchen and down the hallway into his room. The door closed quietly when they entered the room. Sarah's brown and motherly eyes pretended to be focused on peeling the potatoes that Alfred had purchased earlier, but she saw the two head into the room and smiled lightly with her scarlet painted lips before looking back down at the vegetable and resume peeling the skin off.

Well, she would forgive him. It was  _Thanksgiving_ , after all. But just this time.


	10. Saying Grace III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die."  
> -Plato

**November 24th, 1929**

It was around nine thirty in the morning when Steve woke up from his long sleep the day after Thanksgiving. The meal had been a pleasant one, sharing food amongst one another and such. He fell asleep watching TV with his mother and uncle shortly after. His eyes seemed to be as heavy as lead. The nine year old couldn't seem to keep them open. Steve sniffled a little, a pleasant aroma filling his sense of smell. His ears then registered the sound of something sizzling on the stove top, most likely in a frying pan.  _Scrambled eggs…with bacon…_

Steve smiled sleepily. His mother was making him is favorite breakfast meal. Tiredly, he walked slowly out of his dark bedroom and down the hall, passing his mother in the kitchen and sitting at the small kitchen table.

Sarah noticed her son walk past her out of the corner of her eye (more like drag himself past her.) as she stirred the frying scrambled eggs around in the metal pan. "Morning, Sleepyhead!" She sang pleasantly. The mother's attention was back on the cooking food.

Steve groaned in response as he propped himself up into one of the wooden chairs and then raised a sluggish hand to one of his sleepy eyes. The boy's mother stared at him affectionately for a moment before looking down at the sizzling food. The meal was done cooking.

"What time is it?" the little boy groaned in his seat, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sarah was now carrying over a small plate with scrambled eggs and bacon on it for her son. Her other hand held a bigger plate for herself with a bigger serving of food on it.

Then, to Sarah's surprise, the phone began to ring. She turned her head, staring at the loud object mounted on the wall for a brief moment before setting the plates with their breakfasts on them and briskly making the four or five step journey towards the telephone.

Ms. Rogers picked up the phone. "H-Hello?"

_"Hi, Sarah?"_

Brown eyes widened in surprise. "Al-Alfred?" The boy at the table immediately froze upon hearing the name being uttered. The scrambled eggs were slowly falling out of his mouth and back onto the plate.

Alfred chuckled a bit nervously on the other end of the line.  _"Lovely morning outside, huh?"_

Sarah blinked a couple of times before turning to look outside the window by the kitchen table. "W-Why, yes, it is."

_"I was wondering."_

"…Wondering,  _what_ , exactly?"

_"Since it's such a beautiful day outside, would you and Steve like to meet up with me at Central Park?"_

There was a pause. "U-Uhh. I don't know. I mean, I have work tonight, a-and…"

_"It's fine! I'll baby sit for you!"_

"You…you will?"

_"Sure! Anyway to help!"_

Sarah smiled at this. "Thank you. We'll leave at 10. See you at noon."

_"Noon sounds great! See you then!"_

_CLICK._

The mother pursed her lips lightly as she hung up the receiver. She turned around slowly, greeted by her boy's surprised expression. Apparently, he heard the conversation on the phone. No surprise there. Alfred  _did_  talk on the phone rather  _loudly._  His whole breakfast was gone. Steve sat eagerly, waiting for his mother to say something to him.

"Well," Sarah sighed. The mother put her hands on her hips. "If we want to be there by noon, you got to be ready to leave by ten. Go get dressed!"

A wide smile then appeared on the boy's face before he nodded his head vigorously and dashed off to his bedroom. It was after the boy's room's door slammed shut that the blonde woman sighed and chuckled lightly to herself. She let her hands drop from her waist.

"Well," the woman sighed to herself as she reached around and began untying the knot for her apron. "Might as well start getting ready." And with that, the apron was carelessly tossed aside onto the counter and the woman marched into her bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

* * *

It was now around 11:45 in the morning. The train ride to the city was almost over. There was about 15 minutes left. Sarah, dressed in a simple beige dress with a brown fur coat on (courtesy of a certain US representative) and Steve, wearing a black leather jacket (Again, courtesy of a certain US rep.) as well, along with a pair of pants were sitting down, the boy resting his head lightly on his mother's arm, fast asleep while Sarah read a small book entitled Recollection.

The rail car was almost completely empty. Besides the two, there were about four or five more people scattered about the car. The two, however, were unaware of the pair of sinister eyes that looked her way. A man in worn and stained clothing took out a small pocket knife. It opened with a  _CLICK_  and he walked across the train's aisle. The man stopped, standing in front of Sarah.

"Hey, woman," the man's gruff voice barked out. The blonde woman merely rolled her eyes upward to look at him, staying perfectly still almost. "Gimme your purse."

"No." she sternly retorted. Seeing no further point in carrying out the conversation, she looked down and began reading her book once more.

The man growled somewhat, bearing his crooked and blackened teeth. It was only a split second later when he reached forward.

Sarah's eyes widened as she felt a powerful force jerk her forward. "Wah…" The next thing that she knew, an ice cold feeling came in contact with one part of her neck. It was the knife. The blonde woman was now flush against him. Sarah flinched when she came in contact with his breath. It smelled of alcohol and such. How grotesque…

The law of gravity took its toll on the young boy since he now had nothing to lean on. The boy's head collided with the harsh seat of the rail car, effectively waking him up.

"Now," the dirt bag held the knife to the mother's neck if at all possible. "Your purse, if you will." The man grinned with his crooked teeth again showing, making the woman he was holding sick with disgust. Something shiny then caught the man's eye. Turning his head slowly, he saw that she was wearing a wedding ring on her left finger. "Oh," his grin grew wider.

Steve slowly propped himself up, groaning lightly. A light gasp then escaped his mouth when he saw what was going on. "M-Mom?" he went unheard by the two.

Sarah gritted her teeth, already knowing what he was going to try and do. "What a pretty, gold ring~," he mused to himself. His dark brown eyes then shifted to look at Sarah. "Who's the lucky man?" The blonde woman gritted her teeth even more, unsure of what to do next.

"That would be  _me_." A voice broke the unnerving tension in the air. Sarah and Steve's eyes widened, recognizing the voice. Immediately, the two turned their heads. The one and only American representative was in the room; Alfred F. Jones. The man holding Sarah turned his head and gritted his teeth in anger.

The blonde woman looked at the representative. Her eyes widened a bit more. "Al…Alfred…" she whispered so low it was barely audible.

"Let her go." The Alfred F. Jones standing in the rail car with them at that moment was  _not_  the Alfred F. Jones that they knew. His jaw was clenched, and his blue eyes were now ice cold, but yet they burned with rage.

The man snickered and brought Sarah in front of her, back flush up against him with the knife still right up against her neck. The metal was threatening to break skin at any moment. "Not gonna happen." He chuckled lightly. Sarah was now shaking slightly from fear, tears brimming at her eyes.

Alfred knitted his eyebrows together. His brain was now going into overdrive as the adrenaline kicked in. The man's jaw tightened even more. It almost looked like he now had fangs. Steve watched,  _terrified_  of his uncle for the first time in his entire life. The boy's blue eyes then shifted back up to the thug and his mother. Steve swallowed,  _hard_. Summoning up all the courage that he had, he raised his leg up and kicked the guy in the leg, as hard as he could.

"ACK!" the man fell onto one knee, the hand holding the knife went away from Sarah's neck. The thug's body seemed to be sprawled in the air as he tried to steady himself. Alfred took this opportunity to deliver the final blow; a hook kick with his left foot to the robber's jaw. The knife went skidding across the car's floor. Alfred then stood up, turning his back somewhat to face the blonde woman who was now shaking in fear completely, eyes wide and hands by her face.

Immediately, the rep.'s face softened and he didn't seem like an animal any more.

An unsuspecting usher then walked in, jumping back somewhat when his eyes saw the scene before him. "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?"


	11. Meal Time Frenzy I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "…YOU HAVE NO TASTE BUDS!" – Arthur Kirkland; UK REP.

"Hey, Dude, what's up?"

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the diner's phone.  _"Alfred, why aren't you at your office? Your secretary said you were out."_  The Englishman sounded tired. Then again, unless he was having tea or his burnt scones or something was  _horribly_  wrong, he always  _did_. That's Bushy Brows for you.

"Yeah, I'm with Sarah and Steve at the 38th Street Diner." The light brown haired rep. paused. "Something wrong?"

 _"No,"_  the Brit sighed.  _"I just need your signature on a few things."_ Pause.  _"Will you still be over there in say…about ten to fifteen minutes?"_

Alfred blinked in surprise for a brief moment before giving a reply: "Yeah," he answered. "We just ordered our drinks a few minutes ago. And knowing how Sarah can be a bit of a talker..." he laughed nervously while shoving a hand in his leather jacket's pocket. "Yeah, we'll be here."

 _"Good. I need something in me or I'll fall asleep and then I'll have to worry about Francis pulling a prank on me."_  The British representative groaned loudly at this while Alfred smirked as he imagined what the Frenchman would do to him.

"Alright, see you in a few then." And with that, the American hung up the black phone's receiver and sighed heavily. One bad thing about his job was that it followed him  _everywhere_  he went. There was no escaping it completely. He had no choice but to try and have small breaks from the stressful office life of signing papers and downing at least five or six cups of black coffee a day to keep away in the boredom and silence of it all.

Deciding that keeping Sarah and Steve waiting any longer would be a bad thing, he walked back into the vast maze of a sitting area filled with booths and wooden table and chairs. As the rep. was squeezing through the narrow passageways through occupied chairs and tables, he happened to look up right where his company was. Sarah and Steve were playing some sort of game – most likely Tic Tack Toe – And Sarah was most likely wiping the floor with her nine year old son.

And sure enough, as he got closer, he could see the boy begin to pout as he looked away with his arms crossed while he pouted. His mother laughed, meanwhile – ruffling his hair and telling him not to spoil his appetite over a silly game. The blonde woman then looked up, seeing the familiar face and almost immediately smiling. "Took you long enough." She quipped before looking down at her son once more with her gleaming brown eyes. "I was getting sick 'n tired of wiping the floor with him at Tic Tack Toe."

Alfred couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the comment as he looked down at his nephew, who glared lightly at him when he saw him laughing. 'Tis a shame that it made the rep. laugh even more.  
"C'mon." the light brown haired man narrowed his face slightly while grinning widely still. "Don't give me that look." Steve's look weakened for a second when he began smiling due to the goofy tone that his uncle was using to talk to him. Said uncle took a seat next to the little boy. "Or I'll have no choice but to…"

"But to what?" the blond boy raised a golden eyebrow, blue eyes filled with mock annoyance and a gut feeling told him what was to come. But being a naïve nine year old, he ignored it. And that's when he saw the grown man crack a small smirk and raise his eyebrows ever so slightly as he began to lean somewhat closer to him.

"TICKLE TORTURE!" Thank  _God_  that there weren't a lot of people in the restaurant. But none the less, meals were disturbed. Steve began giggling like a maniac when the uncle's hands went to the boy's stomach and jabbed at him ever so slightly. Sarah couldn't help but laugh a bit at the scene as she tried to remain composed and as if she didn't know the two idiots, one of them she called "son".

"Playing games as usual, are we, Alfred?" an accented voice inquired. At the sound, said grown man froze and turned his head to the right, seeing the one and only Arthur Kirkland look at him with a displeased expression. The American then beamed a smile at the green eyed blond.

"Well, looks like you  _did_  decide to show up after all!" Alfred commented to the dressed up Brit who merely sighed at the comment. The American then stood up and shook hands with the older man as the two Rogers watched with curiosity and waited patiently for an explanation. The US rep. turned back to the two who were sitting down while the British man merely shifted his eyes. "Oh," he turned to fully face them and shifted to the side, pointing a finger at the man beside him. "Meet Arthur Kirkland; representative to England."

Being a respectable gentleman, Arthur bowed his head lightly; removing the hat he was wearing and holding it against his chest. "Nice to meet you." He shared a small smile. Sarah returned the gesture.

"Likewise." She replied. Steve stared up at the man, curious about him. Uncle Al and the mystery man seemed to be on friendly terms, so maybe they knew each other? Alfred then took a seat next to the nine year old blond and Arthur took a seat next to the mother who just became more and more uncomfortable with the new scene.

Luckily for the group of four, the waitress came back with two Coca Colas, a glass of water, and a cup of steaming tea. "Here are you drinks," she smiled at the group. "Two Coca Colas one water, and one Earl Grey Tea."

"Thank you," the three blondes gave their thanks while Alfred just said "Thanks."

"Now," the brunette woman sighed, taking out her small note pad and pencil as she looked down at the four. "What will you folks like to eat?"

Alfred grinned lightly. "Un hamburger pour moi," the American gestured to himself, placing a hand on his chest. "Un fromage grillé pour le gosse," the light brown haired man's hand landed firmly on Steve's shoulder. He looked up shyly from the brunette waitress to the familiar face. "Une salade avec vinaigrette ranch pour la belle dame," Arthur raised a thick eyebrow and gave a questioning look at the name he called Sarah as the other representative's hand went from the boy's shoulder to the blonde woman sitting across from her son. "Et certains Rôti de boeuf pour les sourcils broussailleux." The questioning look on the Brit's face automatically turned sour at the childish nickname. One of the Englishman's emerald eyes twitched uncontrollably at the moment.

The waitress tilted her head to the side and only uttered "huh?" in a questioning tone. Kirkland sighed, as if he had to do this before. "One hamburger, one Grilled Cheese, one salad with ranch dressing, and some Roast Beef, if you'll please," he translated. The brown eyed girl nodded her head which was still spinning from confusion before scribbling down the order and running off to the cook. Once she was gone, the British man let out another sigh. "Really, Al, did you  _have_  to order the meal in French?"

The American shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't  _have_  to, it was by choice, and why not?" a small smirk crept onto the man's face as he eyed the British representative while quirking a bushy eyebrow at him. In return, the man with the thick eyebrows raised both of them, apparently amused with the American. A shy smirk crept onto the mother's face as she watched the two begin to argue like a tennis match – back and forth – back and forth.

"I can see why everyone considers you the asshole of the world meetings, now. And to think that it's my fault…" another sigh left the Englishman.

"Don't worry, Artie. We all forgive you. After all, if it weren't for you, the world wouldn't have me as a hero!" the American replied while jabbing his thumb at his chest while his left hand held the Coca Cola that he seemed to be enjoying  _a lot_. The last two lines of dialogue earned muffled snickers from both blondes sitting next to the two reps. Had the Englishman been more younger, he would have slapped his forehead, but since he already  _had_  a headache, he didn't feel like making it worse; Although, Alfred probably wouldn't say the same thing. Little Stevie could be seen trying to stifle a small giggle while Sarah merely rolled her eyes while breathing out a prolonged sigh through her nose.

"Last time I checked, you left me, plus everyone else at the last meeting, at the mercy of Ivan, who decided to…Never mind." Artie shook his head and furrowed his thick eyebrows even more. Alfred couldn't help but have a small smirk on his face when he saw that the man sitting across him was starting to resemble his Scottish Fold cat that Arthur took with him wherever he went. "You left us at the mercy of  _THAT_  monster. If you were a hero, you wouldn't have – "

"Last time I checked, you ain't a damsel in distress. You brought those scones with you last time, didn't you?" Alfred replied with a blank face, trying to suppress his laughter. And as expected, the Englishman cringed at the question. "Those things taste like petrified couch stuffing." A slight smirk crossed Alfred's lips…which quickly faded when in the next instant, he was being violently shaken by the older man.

"THAT RECIPE WAS PASSED DOWN BY MY MUMSY! How dare you insult her! You don't know anything about exquisite cuisine because YOU HAVE NO TASTE BUDS!"

…And for the second time that day in less than fifteen minutes, people stopped what they were eating on the spot. Some food even fell out of a few patrons' mouths as they slowly turned their heads to witness the cause of the new commotion.

The dizzy American replied, "Neither do you…" as he saw chirping birds flying around in front of his eyes that were now black and white swirls. The Englishman then yelled with rage as he continued shaking the American violently. Steve couldn't stop his giggling this time and his mother let out a low chuckle while having her eyes closed and her face lowered to the ground. It seemed like a whole eternity passed before Arthur let go of the American. Sarah looked at him with a worried look.

"Is…he going to be alright?"

Another sigh escaped the Englishman. "He'll be fine." He answered, looking down at the table while frowning with his arms crossed. "What you've just witnessed is our  _usual_  bantering. The mother and boy raised their eyebrows at this.  _Usual!?_

The brunette waitress then came back into view, carrying over the four ordered meals with a smile on her face. "Here's your food!"

And then like  _that_ , Alfred came to when he smelled the delicious hamburger on its way over. "Man, I'm  _starvin'_!"

Arthur merely let his head bob as he lowered it hopelessly. The woman next to him let out a long sigh while her son just looked up at the man with a curious look on his face.


	12. Meal Time Frenzy II (Revelations)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have bad taste, either." – Arthur Kirkland; UK REP.

"Alfred, sign the damn paper!" The English man was literally shoving the papers that the US rep. needed to sign in his face.

"Nu whayy. Whime ewatting muy haambuurgwer, Lwoser!" Alfred shouted and pushed the papers away and towards the man sitting across the small booth, leaving the two people he was supposed to treating to stare at the scene in a mixture of surprise and a bit of fright as the scene went on.

Other customers in the diner by now had stopped eating and were now staring at the two bickering men who were now ringing each other's necks as they continued to argue over the papers, which were now lying on the table, forgotten by the two.

The Englishman sighed before leaning back and fixing his suit coat. "This is childish behavior that is getting us nowhere." Arthur opened his eyes to look at the American, who was sitting with one hand holding his head up as the other held the half-eaten burger with his eyes looking away and out the window. Why did Alfred have to be such a child?

Arthur stared at the other man before once again sighing lightly and reaching for his coat that sat between Sarah and himself. The English Representative stood up and swung the coat over his shoulder as he took a few steps before stopping beside the American Rep.

Alfred looked up as a hand was placed on his shoulder. "Let's take a tabs break," The Englishman suggested in a low whisper. The American scanned the man before him before nodding his head lightly. Arthur removed his hand from Alfred's shoulder and walked off. The bell by the diner door rang as the Englishman stepped through and as the door closed behind him.

The American brunet sighed before looking at the blonde mother and her son. "I have to talk to him in private about something. I apologize for this. It's like I can never get completely away from work." Alfred offered a weak smile in compensation. Sarah sighed lightly before smiling lightly in return.

"It's alright." She stated. Alfred's eyes shot opened and widened somewhat. "Just get back as soon as you can."

A light smirk formed on the man's face. "Right." He replied before looking down at Steve to his right, still smirking as he raised a hand to ruffle the boy's hair. "Be good, alright?"

Steve blinked somewhat before nodding somewhat. Alfred rose to get up, bending over to pick up his coat as he turned and walked to the diner door. The boy and mother both watched him as he stepped out the door and as the bell rung its usual jungle before stopping when the door was completely closed.

Steve's mother then looked at her son before turning to her purse. The blond boy blinked when he watched her go fishing through her bag. "What are you looking for?" Smiling and eyes sparkling confidently, Sarah raised what she was looking for in the air with her right hand; a deck of cards.

"Wanna play 'Old Maid'?"

* * *

"So," the American paused as he flicked the lighter on with his thumb as he held the cigarette with his lips. Alfred held the metal lighter up to his cigarette and took a few puffs of the drug before putting the contraption away into his coat pocket and taking away the tab from his lips, blowing out a translucent cloud of gray smoke. "What did you want to talk about?"

While the Englishman stood closest to 38th Street Diner's doorway on the NY city street, Alfred stood next to him, looking up into the light blue sky above them that wasn't blocked by tall skyscrapers. "Why didn't you want to sign those papers back then? I would've been out of your hair by now," The Englishman bluntly stated as he held his lit cigarette in between his fingers before placing it back in between his lips.

"I told you already; I don't like doing work outside of the office," Alfred replied with the cigarette in between his lips. He took it out once more, puffing out another cloud before looking down at the sidewalk as someone walked by.

Arthur chuckled. "You don't like work,  _period._ " It was now Alfred's turn to chuckle lightly. "It's almost as if you're a father, now." The American Rep. started at the ground for a second, startled, before blinking once or twice and looking back up at the blond man. Iggy's emerald eyes were fixed straight ahead of him. "That boy looks at you like you're his father, Al. I can see it in his eyes."

Alfred stared at the Englishman for a moment before looking down at the concrete sidewalk beneath his leather shoes. "Yeah, I guess I am kind of one, huh?" The Brit glanced at his co-worker before looking in the previous direction that he was previously.

"You don't have bad taste, either." A light smile graced his lips.

Al's eyes immediately shot up at the older man. "What do you mean by that?" To anyone that  _really_  knew the American, the tone of his voice almost sounded  _threatening_.

"You know what I mean. You're in love with that Sarah woman, am I correct?" Arthur looked at his companion with a slightly questioning look, smile gone. Alfred's eyes went wide before he turned away, looking almost  _ashamed_. "I can see it when you look at her, but don't get too comfortable. You know that it wouldn't work out. We're not like most humans, remember?"

Alfred remained silent as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and tighter and the pain in his chest only became greater with each painful thought. The American pursed his lips as the cigarette kept burning away, a pile of ash beginning to form at the end as the drug continued to smolder.

"Now," The Brit carried on nonchalantly. As he held his cigarette in his mouth, his hands reached into his coat and fished through the inside breast pocket of the garment. His hand coming out of the pocket revealed that he was holding a few papers and a fountain pen. Arthur held the hand with the pen and papers out towards the American. "Care to sign?"

Alfred stared at the Brit for a moment before a light and bitter smirk formed on his mouth. "And people wonder where I get that care-free and oblivious blunt attitude from," the American mused lightly before reaching his left hand over to grab the items. Arthur turned his back to the other rep. as Al twisted the pen and unfolded the papers before leaning against the shorter man.

"Heh," Arthur commented when he heard the American mumble. "It's really quite apparent since I  _raised_  you, Al," the Brit commented, feeling the marks of the pen glide across his upper back through the coat fabric as the American blindly signed the papers, not even bothering to read them. Finishing rather quickly, Alfred folded up the papers and twisted the pen once more before Iggy turned around and collected the items in his hand and shoved them into his coat pocket.

Alfred took one last puff of the cigarette as he carelessly chucked it behind him while Arthur extinguished the flame using the bottom of his shoe. "Let's go back in, shall we? Dessert should be ready soon." Smiling lightly, Iggy nodded and they headed back inside. All the while, Alfred held a fake smile, feeling like crying on the inside.

* * *

Steve threw down the last pair of cards that he had, both 7s, and emptied his hand. Realizing that he won, he grinned and threw his cards down on the table, laughing like a maniac. "Yay! I won!" And with a groan, Sarah threw down hers, now getting a headache from their third and hopefully final round of playing "Old Maid". Two figures caught her eye from the top left of her blurred vision. She looked up while her son was still celebrating his second victory. At that brief moment, she contemplated that maybe she should cut back on how much soda she got him.

A smile reached her face when she saw a familiar figure wearing glasses and his green eyed British companion. "You're back." Steve turned around to see the two men.

"Hey, Uncle Al!" he shouted as a greeting.

Alfred smiled lightly and then looked over at his crazed nephew, raising a questioning eyebrow before looking back at the blonde woman. Her brown eyes rolled annoyingly. "He won,  _again_." At this, the American representative chuckled a bit. His smirk turned somewhat crooked as he closed his eyes. And as per usual, he raised his hand to ruffle the boy's blond locks. Iggy watched the grown man beside him and then eyed the nine year old boy, eyes wide with a small amount of surprise behind them. Arthur looked back up at the American before a small bitter smile curved its way onto his lips.

Alfred noticed something on the booth table and grinned.

"Oh, Arthur."

Alfred's voice brought him out of his train of thought. The Englishman looked up in surprise.

"Wha-"

_SPLAT!_

Alfred's laughter roared as the mother of his nephew watched, purely stunned. Steve joined in on the laughter after a minute of staring intently at the pie-covered face of the Englishman. Arthur calmly took off the aluminum pie tin and placed it on the table before wiping away two small spaces for his eyes to see out of. And even through all of the pie on his face, the blond man's bushy eyebrows stuck out through the delicious treat that was smeared across his face. One green eye was twitching. "Now what was  _that_  for?"

"For disturbing me while I was out of the office," Alfred grinned, still laughing a bit.

With a sigh, Mr. Kirkland put on his top hat and adjusted his coat. "Mrs. Rogers," he bowed his head. "Steve… _Alfred._ " Arthur hissed at the American, who was still cheekily grinning.

"Bye, Arthur." The American bided farewell to the departing Englishman as he was leaving. It was only a matter of seconds before Arthur left, walking out of the diner with haste. Mr. Jones sighed before turning back to his guests. His hands went to his hips. "Is everyone done here?"

"Yep!"

_"Yeah."_

"Alright," Alfred sighed happily before sitting down next to Sarah. "Waitress! Bill please!"


	13. Let it Snow I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words."- William Shakespeare

**December 24th, 1929  
9:55 pm**

"Steve, time for bed!"

"But Mom! Uncle Al said that he was going to call!" the nine year old whined. Sarah sighed hopelessly. Indeed, Alfred F. Jones had promised to call the Rogers home before Christmas to wish them a happy holiday, but knowing him,  _anything_  was possible.

"Alright," the blonde finally spoke, brown eyes narrowed at the boy. "Five more minutes.  _Then_  you go to bed!" And with that, Sarah turned and walked back to the oven to tend to the cookies that they were baking for 'Santa Claus'. She was lucky enough to be allowed off for the holiday, but she only had off until the 26th, then it was back to the kitchen sinks of the four of five class restaurant that she worked at for around a decade. Maybe even more. She lost track. Every day was practically the same.

The phone then rang at 9:57 PM. The nine year old leapt up in alert and then reached for the phone. "Hello?" he answered.

_"Hey, Steve! Merry Christmas!"_

Steve gasped. "Uncle Al!"

_"So how's it going?"_

"Pretty good," the boy replied. He then looked over at his mother who was now taking out the mint chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. "Me and Ma just finished baking a batch of cookies for Santa."

_"Really? You two seem to be enjoying yourselves."_

"Yeah." There was a short pause.

_"Hey, Steve."_

"Yeah?"

_"Think I can talk to your mother for a few minutes?"_

"Sure!" the boy turned to look at his mother again. "Mom!"

"Hmm?" Sarah looked up from tending to the cooling cookies. She then began to take off the oven mitts that she wore.

"Uncle Al wants to talk to you!" The boy eagerly stated.

Sarah chuckled lightly before she reached for the receiver from her son. "Hello?"

_"Ah, Sarah! How's it been over the Rogers home?"_

Sarah waited a moment before responding. "Hectic."

On the other end of the line, Alfred could be heard laughing lightly.  _"Really?_ " He asked, clearly amused.

"Steve's been driving me up a wall for the past week about Christmas. He really looks forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Once again, the male on the other end wound up laughing lightly from amusement.  _"Well, that's not a shocker. I'm just that amazing!"_

"Alfred, don't kid yourself," Sarah quipped. She couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

At his desk, Alfred through down the pen that he was holding and leaned back in his chair.  _"So…"_  he put his feet up on his desk and declined further in his office chair.  _"I was wondering…"_

"Wondering what?" Sarah crossed her arm in front of her stomach and balanced her left hand on top of her right as she held the receiver close to her ear. Now he had her complete attention. So much that she didn't see Steve slowly creep over to the cookies.

_"Would you like it if I stopped by tonight?"_

The question took the widow by surprise. "T-Tonight?" Sarah glanced over at her son and then narrowed her eyebrows at him. "Get away from those, Mister!" Scared, the boy ran out of the room. Alfred could be heard chuckling on the phone once more. "Well, I honestly don't know…" she put her hand over the microphone this time as she turned to look at her son. "Steve, go to bed!" Sarah brought the receiver close to her ear again. "Steve will be asleep…is that alright?"

Alfred once again chuckled lightly.  _"That'll be perfect. I got a few things that I need to sneak under the Christmas tree, so it works out._ "

Sarah smiled lightly. "Alright. What time are you aiming for?"

_"How about in a half an hour?"_

Once again, the blonde woman blinked her brown eyes in surprise. This man never failed to keep her on her toes. She didn't realize until now that she was standing by the window, watching the snowflakes flutter down onto the sidewalk.

"A-Alright. A half an hour it is. Are you sure that this isn't a bother to you?"

 _"Of course! You two are_ never _a bother to me!"_

Sarah once again couldn't help but smile some more, a light pink tint colored her face. "Alright," she sighed, looking out into the black abyss of the night. "I'll let you go now. Be sure to bring some extra clothes. I can make you a bed on the couch so you won't have to drive back to your place…wherever that is."

Alfred chuckled again.  _"You think of everything, don't you?"_

"I try to," the widow bluntly replied, slowly turning away from the window. "Alright, bye."

_"Bye."_

_CLICK._

The smile faded away from the woman's face as she slowly let her arm fall limply, still holding onto the receiver. She sighed longingly before hanging up the receiver and letting it rest there, still holding onto it. Sarah shook her head and forced herself to walk away and take two mugs out of the cabinet and started making hot coco for the two of them.

A half an hour had passed relatively quickly, at least, in Sarah's opinion. It felt like no more than five minutes maybe had passed by when she heard a car's engine pull up onto the street below the apartment. The Hot Coco had just been finished too. She looked out the window, snow still falling outside when she saw the infamous Alfred F. Jones practically run out of his car and grab what looked like a "ton" load of presents that had already been wrapped. She couldn't help but have a small smile on her face as she saw him run inside the apartment complex. And with that, the mother immediately ran to the door and watched the elevator lights go on and off as he climbed the floors in the metal box.

It was probably a few minutes, which once again seemed to be less than a fifth of that to the blonde woman. The doors opened and Alfred stepped out, walking rather quickly and trying to get inside the apartment before he dropped everything which he could barely carry. At the sight of things, the woman immediately widened her eyes and nearly dropped her jaw as she gaped at the sight. The man never ceased to surprise her, that's for sure! And without thinking, she immediately ran inside and opened the door as wide as possible. A few seconds later, Alfred walked inside, taking heavy steps as he turned left and dropped his presents on the semi-worn couch that was in front of the Christmas tree.

With a heavy sigh, the grown man leaned back and stood up straight as he stretched his back out, groaning slightly. Sarah, meanwhile, stared at the large pile of presents that lay on her couch. "Well," Alfred heaved another sigh and looked at Sarah with that childish smile that he usually did. "That was backbreaking!"

Sarah giggled a bit before sighing and composing herself. "I've made some Hot Coco if you want to have a drink that'll warm you up. I know it was cold out there and all," She stated a bit shyly. That was all it took for Mr. Jones' smile to grow wider.

"Sounds great!"

"So, I haven't seen you in a while," Sarah calmly stated as she looked at the steaming brown beverage before her while she stirred it with the sterling silver spoon she loosely held in her hand.

"Yeah," Alfred leaned back in his chair, and it creaked. He sighed after picking up his drink with his hand. Both of them sat across each other at the small kitchen table that sat before the window. It seemed like all those other times when Alfred paid surprised visits for breakfast or dinner and when both of them talked over some cheap beer or soda, but this time…seemed  _different_. "Work can be a pain."

"Amen to that," Sarah quipped while she raised her mug in the air lightly as if proposing some sort of a toast before taking another sip of the warm chocolate. Alfred seemed to smile at her a bit tiredly, but a mixture of something else she wasn't so sure of at the time. Her brown eyes and his blue ones seemed locked to each other's gaze; neither of them could look away. "Steve's been doing good in school. He almost got straight A's the first marking period.

Alfred almost spat out his drink. He took a gasp of air after he swallowed. "That's great!" Sarah nodded.

"I'm really proud of him. I think Joe would be, too." At the last part, the widow smiled bitterly, and Alfred couldn't stop himself from doing the same.

"Yeah…"

There was a silent pause. Sarah took the metal spoon out of her mug and placed it on a napkin slowly. Her attention was then drawn to the falling specks of white outside of the window. "It's pretty, isn't it?" she whispered in question. Alfred was brought out of his thoughts and looked up at the blonde in surprise as the question sunk in. He too, looked out the window.

"Yeah, it is."

The woman sighed with a content smile while the grip on her mug handle tightened ever so slightly. "It's kinda like a snow globe." Alfred's eyes shifted to look at her, studying her. "I mean with the way the snowflakes fall and all, it makes you think for a moment that you're in a glass snow globe, right?"

The American's eyes softened as a small smile formed at his lips. He looked back at the peaceful view that was outside the window. "Yeah," he paused, breathing lightly out of his nose. "You're right." Alfred raised the mug in the air up to his mouth and took another sip of the hot beverage. An idea then hit him as he stopped in mid-sip. "Say, Sarah," the man lowered his mug to the table again and then adjusted his glasses.

"Hmm?" the blonde woman looked over from the window to the American rep. who sat at the other end of the table.

"Remember Steve's first Christmas?" the man grinned slightly while cocking an eyebrow. Sarah took a moment before she giggled lightly and smiled brightly, eyes gleaming.

"Yeah, the living room looked like F.A.O Schwarz. You got him so many presents he didn't know what to open first."

"Yeah," Alfred picked up his mug. "He actually fell flat on his face, too," he quipped. Both adults chuckled humorously at the last part. "Didn't I get him a toy soldier set that year?"

"A wooden one," the blonde answered, sipping her Hot Chocolate.

"Say, Sarah."

"Yeah?"

"Does your record player over there still work?" he inquired, nodding his head in the direction of the red metal box that was on top of the table in back of the couch in the living room. Blinking at the man with a questioning look, the blonde nodded her head.

"Why do you ask?" she lightly raised an eyebrow. A boyish grin then over swept the man's facial features that made her heart flutter for a moment before he quickly stood up and walked briskly over to the music player. With a swipe of his arm, he cleared the top of the case that contained the record player and quickly opened it up. He smiled a bit wider before briskly walking over to the somewhat-worn out sofa and shot his hand into the paper bag that he had brought with him. His blue eyes seemed determined to find the one specific record that he was looking for-Found it!

With a grin, Alfred pulled it out, admiring the paper envelope it was in for a brief second, and then walked over to the gramophone record player once more and proceeded to get the song playing. All the while, Sarah was watching the man intently. She figured that he wanted some background music. Sarah knew him for around twelve years, and anyone else that knew him knew that he  _did not like_ silence. With the volume lower than usual due to the sleeping child down the hall, the instrumental for the seasonal song began to play. A few seconds later, a man's voice began to sing at a slow pace:

_**Oh, the weather outside is frightful,** _   
_**And the fire is so delightful…** _

Alfred walked over to Mrs. Rogers and extended his hand in a mannerly way with a soft smile on his face. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Rogers?"

Sarah stared at him for a moment before chuckling lightly. She couldn't say no to the man, now could she? "Sure, why not?" she replied with a small smile before taking his hand and letting him lead her away from the kitchen table to the small area that was just big enough for them to dance.

_**And since we've no place to go,** _   
_**Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,** _

Alfred placed his hand gently on the smaller woman's waist while her free hand went to his shoulder. Both of them laughed lightly before Alfred took a slow step forward. Sarah followed, looking down at their feet nervously. The man took another step, this time Sarah looked up a bit confidently, smiling nervously though. Mr. Jones chuckled lightly before taking his hand off of her waist briefly to dim the light just a bit just as the man sung "The lights are turned way down low". His returned there as he spun them both around. A soft laugh came out of the blonde woman as she began to relax a bit.

_**It doesn't show signs of stopping,** _   
_**And I've brought some corn for popping,** _   
_**The lights are turned down low,** _   
_**Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,** _

The two were now forgetting how awkwardly everything had started as they got into the swing of things. Alfred spun her around once, then twice before pulling her towards him and dipping her lightly. Sarah was laughing a bit. Maybe the hot chocolate was spiked with something…

The brunet pulled her back up and they continued their box dancing as Alfred led the both of them around in their small area.

_**When we finally kiss goodnight,** _   
_**Oh, how I'll hate going out in the storm!** _   
_**But if you'll really hold me tight,** _   
_**All the way home I'll be warm!** _

By now they forgot that the music was even playing. Most likely, it had been a good three or four minutes before either one of them realized that the song had long been over. Sarah stopped dancing, trying to listen for any music. Alfred looked at her quizzically before realizing their being bereft of any music. Sarah laughed heartily at this before the male counterpart joined in, laughing at their own silliness just then.

Sarah walked over by the light switch which was by the entryway of the door when a hand came to rest on the wall right next to her face. Baffled, the mother turned around to look at Alfred…only to freeze on the spot. His face was a mere few inches away from hers, which made the woman's heart beat speed up half a beat. And then, with that small smirk on his face, the man pointed upward with his free hand and looked up slightly. Brown eyes looked up slowly to see mistletoe hung below the entry way.

Alfred then began to lean in, his other hand now resting on Sarah's waist. "Merry Christmas," he whispered in a breath before he kissed her. The clock in the living room then struck midnight. He didn't kiss her softly, but it wasn't forcefully, either. The blonde's hands slid up the man's chest and rested on his shoulders. Around the tenth gonging of the time teller, they broke apart. The clock gonged two more times before it became silent.

The pair smiled at each other blissfully. Sarah raised a hand to cup Alfred's face as he rested his forehead against hers. The wind howled outside as snow continued to fall. The dim light flickered ever so slightly, and a pair of young blue eyes watched from around the corner in the kitchen.


	14. Let it Snow II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone."- Charles M. Shulz

Sarah gingerly opened the door to Steve's messy bedroom, smiling softly when she saw him still fast asleep at ten a.m. in the morning. She quietly closed the wooden door behind her and made her way across the wooden floor, a board lightly creaking here and there on occasion. When she reached the bed, she sat down lightly at the end. Her motion of sitting down on the spring mattress had lightly jostled the boy's sleeping body.

"Steve," the mother nudged at the boy lightly, electing a groan from him in response. The blond woman chuckled lightly before nudging him some more. "Steve, wake up. It's Christmas!" she raised her voice a bit with the last statement to make herself sound eager for the day.

Steve groaned in response. "Uncle Al isn't here though…" the boy lightly muttered in his half-awake state. Sarah's eyes widened before softening and she let out a low chuckle. The mother lightly smacked the boy out on the arm.

"Are you so sure about that?" she asked with a knowing voice. It took a moment, but her words sunk in and a pair of bright blue eyes shot open. The nine year old gasped abruptly as he shot out of bed and out the door practically within the blink of an eye. The mother's brown eyes stared at the bed, blinking for a few seconds before the woman heard "Uncle Alfred!" from out in the living room! She grinned lightly before trotting out, happy as can be herself.

"Hey, Kiddo!" the uncle hoisted the boy in the air, lifting up the laughing boy while laughing a bit himself. Alfred's attention turned to the blonde woman walking into the room who was also wearing a large smile on her face. Steve craned his neck to look at his mother.

"Well," the woman sighed. "These presents aren't going to open themselves." The boy then quickly turned his head to the sofa and Christmas tree, seeing presents crowding around the tree and covering the wooden floor , ranging in different colored wrappings and sizes with shining bows attached to all of them. He looked at the uncle, who only grinned at the boy's astonished face as he put him down. Immediately, Steve ran off to the tree. By far, this was probably the best Christmas he has had yet.

Steve turned to face the two adults, first to his mother, who was boy the record player, and then to the uncle. "Which one should I open first?!" his voice was full of excitement. The pair of adults looked at each other for a second before Alfred nodded his head towards the wall in back of the tree.

"How about with the one all the way in the back?" Alfred suggested. Steve turned and followed the older man's gaze to see a long box with toy soldier wrapping paper on it and a long, green bow wrapped around the top left corner of it. The youngster's eyes widened when he saw it and before he knew it, his body was heading in the direction of the long and tall box.

Sarah re-joined the representative and crossed her arms as she watched the boy cautiously reach for the long present along with the taller man standing beside her. "I really don't know how to thank you," she spoke, turning to look at him. " _Again_."

Alfred chuckled at the statement. "I think just seeing you two is enough payment. Steve's a good kid." The record player started playing. A group of violins could be heard playing the intro before a man's voice began in the background.*

"He is," Sarah sighed. She nervously chuckled lightly before turning her head to look at him again. "Sorry for making you sleep on the sofa." The taller man raised an eyebrow before making a hand gesture with a nonchalant look on his face.

"Don't worry about it." Alfred then reached around with his hand and gripped his neck lightly as he proceeded to pop it. "The desk at my office is worse.  _Trust me_."

With that remark, Sarah couldn't help but chuckle at the remark, raising her hand that was closed to cover her mouth while the other one gripped her waist still. Alfred smirked lightly. "You know," he sighed, dropping his hand back down to his side. Sarah looked back up again at the representative, dropping her hands back to her sides. "You still didn't answer my question from last night." Alfred's hand lightly brushed up against the blonde's.

Sarah turned to look back at Steve, who was now carrying back the gift while avoiding stepping on smaller ones and one big present. "I'm still considering my answer," she bluntly stated. The widow lightly grabbed his hand with hers. She felt him squeeze it lightly before she let go and walked over to take a seat on the couch. Alfred followed wordlessly, now with a light smile on his face.

"I wonder what it is…" the boy mused aloud. Alfred wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and chuckled lightly, looking down at him with a crooked smirk on his face.

"Well," he paused, leaning in a bit and jostling the boy slightly. "Open it up and see for yourself."

"Okay!" the wrapping paper began flying off as the sound of the paper being torn to shreds bounded off the walls. Steve's excited eyes caught sight of some wording on a thick, cardboard box. "Dixie BB G" and that was all he needed to see before he knew what he got. He gasped aloud and then proceeded to rip off the remaining gift paper with new motivation. "No way!" The boy was now laughing excitedly as he looked in marvel at his new profound gift. A Dixie BB Gun, just for him.

Steve could hear his uncle laughing a bit at his reaction as the boy stared at the picture of a hunter with his bloodhound on the cardboard box. The nephew then looked up at the adult, grin widening by the seconds that seemed to crawl sluggishly by. Alfred's only responding gesture to this was raising his hand and ruffling the boy's hair lightly before pulling him closer to his side.

* * *

Sure, Steve couldn't fire metal bbs in the house, but he  _could_  fire cap guns in the house. To be more specific, a cap gun version of the cowboy revolvers they had back in the day. Wearing a hat that was supposed to be a replica from those in that era, the nine year old peered over the arm of the worn sofa cautiously, face coming up an inch at a time. All was still. Sarah was busy away at preparing supper that was supposed to be ready in about ten or fifteen minutes while the nine year old and his uncle played Cowboy and Indian.

And for his size, Alfred knew how to  _hide_. Steve couldn't find him anywhere! Blue eyes scanned to the left, then to the right by the tree before the boy crouched down again and leaned against the side of the upholstery. He was starting to get a little more than  _frustrated_. It teetered on the brink of being  _peeved_  at this point in the game. A good half an hour had passed since they started playing their game. Before that, they wasted about two hours by the tree and then there was lunch, Steve not caring that he had skipped breakfast this winter morning.

Steve raised his head over the arm of the couch once more, again scanning the same surroundings that he had seen a few scant seconds ago… _wait_.

By the kitchen, there was a wall that blocked a good portion of it from the boy's current position. The wall basically had a little room of its own for the pantry, and enough room for a cot if needed. But that's not what caught the blond's attention. The tip of a white feather did, though. And at that moment, an impish grin could be seen on the seemingly innocent boy as he crouched down and let his knees touch the floor.

A sloth-like second sailed by in terms of what seemed to be a few minutes as Steve peered from around the side of the couch. Blue eyes blinked and golden eyebrows furrowed as he tried to process how what he saw was no longer there. And then that's when he heard someone sit on the couch and see it shift a bit. He looked up quickly in response, seeing Alfred, still with his pair of glasses on, but with war paint plastered on his face in the primary colors and seeing him wear the feather assortment that Indian Chiefs did with one leg covering the length of the couch, armed with a bow and plunger arrow that was aimed right at him.

"Give up, Whiteman," the "Chief" stated with a small smirk on his face. "I take your sqaw and food." At this, the supposed "cowboy" grew flustered.

"Over my dead body!" Steve shouted as he pulled back the hammer on his pistol with his thumb.

"If you insist," was all the uncle said before he let the arrow go flying and the suction cup land right on the boy's face and flattening him right on his back, dropping his cap gun.

"MHHMM!"

"I'm sorry," Alfred cupped his ear, still smirking lightly. "I can't hear you. Could you repeat that?"

"MHHEHHHHM!"

"Boys, dinner's read-" Sarah stopped in her tracks when she saw her son sit up with a plunger stuck to his face. Alfred then looked at the blonde mother before the boy again. The uncle closed his eyes and laughed nervously while scratching his face lightly with his index finger.

"Now, Sarah," he stuttered lightly, which only made the mother frown and put her hands on her hips. "It's…not what it looks like?"

This didn't help him at all. One could almost feel sorry for him,  _almost_.

_SLAP!_

* * *

"You can't stay?" the boy whined.

"Sorry, Sport." The uncle smiled grimly at the nine year old as he reached for his coat. "I got work tomorrow."

"Awwww."

"Steve, it's nine o'clock already. Go to bed," came the voice of the blonde mother, which caused the boy only to whine tiredly some more. "Now."

"But-"

Sarah raised a finger. "No 'buts', Young Man! March straight to bed, NOW!"

Steve pouted while tears were beginning to brim in his eyes. The uncle all the while was looking at the boy while the guilt fell on him in increments of pounds, then tons. "Well," he interrupted, looking up and pondering in thought. Both Rogers looked to the light brown haired man with a questioning look. Steve rubbed his eyes tiredly a bit, trying his hardest to keep awake, apparently. "Alright." He apparently made some decision in his mind (which Arthur says is the size of a peanut). "I'll stay another night," the uncle stated with a smile.

Both of the Rogers widened their eyes. Steve then proceeded to leap for joy while laugh a bit before running up and hugging the man. "Thank you, Uncle Al!"

This caused Alfred to laugh a bit from amusement. "Sure thing, Pal." Steve then ran off to his bedroom, already in his pajamas and ready to be tucked into bed. Sarah was about to follow when she was lightly pulled back. Turning around, she saw a calm smile on his face, a look that this animated man rarely had on him, if at all. "Wait just a sec?" he raised an eyebrow, which Sarah did in return and watched quizzically as the man reached into his coat pocket and fished out a small box with a "Tiffany & Co." logo on it. She gasped and then looked up to meet his gaze.

"Alfred, I can't-,"

"Oh, hush up for a bit." He was tired, just like Steve was, and even she was starting to feel the toll of the events of the day. "I didn't give this to you last night when I should've, but better late than never, I guess." He opened up the box to reveal an "Enchant Scroll Pendant", one of the most popular but expensive ones out there this holiday season. Sarah's brown eyes widened even more. She was well aware of how much it had cost him.

"Alfred, you paid too much for it! I refuse to take it!" she hissed in a hushed voice. The man could merely chuckle as he took it out of the box and put the necklace on her. "I don't need stuff like-" by this time, she realized that it was already on her, and that he would insist on her keeping it. Damn him.

"It looks good on you. Better than in the store window, that's for sure," the representative commented with a small smirk on his face. The woman could feel her face flush at the compliment and merely looked away.

"You're impossible sometimes," she whispered back in reply. Alfred chuckled again, this time grabbing her by the shoulders.

"I get told that frequently." He then leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead, leaving his lips to linger a few seconds, as if reluctant to pull them back. "Merry Christmas," he finally spoke.

Sarah sighed lightly, but none the less was feeling the same emotion as he was. "Merry Chris-"

"Mom?" the forgotten boy called from in his bedroom. Startled, the mother turned around.

"Coming!" she called and then walked briskly down the hallway a few paces before turning into her son's bedroom. Alfred sighed lightly and pushed his hands into his pockets. He let his blue eyes wonder a bit before coming to a halt at the window where small white dots were slowly floating along. It was snowing again.


	15. Let it Snow III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone."- Charles M. Shulz

Steve was tucked in and asleep. Sarah and Alfred were just sitting on the couch with hot coco in their hands, chatting the night away. The mother sighed, resting her head against the uncle's broad shoulder. "This is so nice for a change. I can just relax." She spoke softly, smiling tiredly.

"Yeah," the uncle chuckled in reply, taking a sip of his coco. "I don't have to be bent over a desk for hours on end." At this, the blonde woman chuckled.

"Sounds like fun," she retorted.

At this, the uncle snorted lightly and added, "I wouldn't mind trading with you."

"I'm sorry, but I can't see you wearing a skirt." Sarah looked up to see the blue eyed man smirk lightly.

"Then you should meet up with Arthur again. He wears them all the time." He quipped. Sarah laughed lightly at this and sighed.

"Those are called 'kilts', Good Man."

"Then, Fair Madam," he countered, setting his mug onto the tabletop before reaching an arm around the woman's small frame. "You haven't seen him when he's dru-"

The telephone rang. Both brown and blue eyes looked at the black communication device. Sarah got up. "Who could be calling at ten at night?" she asked aloud as she marched over to the phone and answered it.

"Beats me," the man responded, rubbing the back of his neck. He watched her as she listened attentively to whomever she was talking to.

Sarah nodded her head and replied, "Yes, he is." To whatever question she was being asked. Her eyes then wandered over to the blue eyed man. She held out the receiver of the telephone to him. "It's for you," she lowly whispered.

The man blinked in confusion. He sighed tiredly and propped himself off of the couch and made his way to the phone. "Hello?"

"Alfred, why didn't you show up to work today?" Alfred groaned mentally. It was  _Arthur._  "Well?"

"Hi, Artie! Seems you're in a good mood."

"Don't be sarcastic with me. You're going to D.C."

Alfred's eyes widened and almost immediately he was wide awake. "W-What?"

"You're leaving tomorrow at two o'clock. We have your train tickets. Have a nice night."  _CLICK._

"…Yeah, you too, Bushy Brows." The American Rep hung up the receiver and hung his head, refusing to look at Sarah.

"What happened?" she whispered. Alfred only bowed his head lower. "Alfred, what's going on-" In the next split second, she was pulled into a tight embrace by said representative. "Al…Alfred?"

"I've been moved to D.C." he whispered. The woman's eyes widened.

"What?" she looked up at him. "Are they even allowed to do that?"

He solemnly nodded with a bitter and forced smile. "I'll be up here every once in a while." He tucked the stray strands away from her face. "And it should be only for a year at the most." Sarah's eyes wandered back down to her chest and she nodded lightly, still taking in the situation. "Hey." Alfred grabbed her chin and made her look him in the eye. "It's not forever." He leaned in and lightly pecked her on the forehead as a tear escaped one of her eyes.

"I could take you guys with me," he whispered. Sarah looked up at him and saw the desperate look in his eyes. She stared into them before she lowered her head.

"I don't know about Steve…" her voice was barely a whisper.

"I think he would like it." He said optimistically with a smile. Sarah looked up at him. "They have better doctors down there than up here. The schools are better off too." He sighed and looked up at the tree. "I was thinking about this for a long time," he gave a small exhale of a laugh. "And I said it before. You two are my family." He looked down and cupped her cheek, still smiling earnestly. "It would make sense for you to live with me."

"…Well," Sarah looked down again. "I know that this will be better for Steve and all, but…I just…"

"Jesus, Sarah." He rolled his eyes and puffed out a strained breath of air. His hands went to the woman's shoulders as he gripped them firmly and jerked her a bit. "For God's sake Sarah, I love ya." He raised his voice. "I'll be damned if I didn't mean it. I love ya and I have for a long time and I love that son of yours." He sighed and loosened his grip and leaned back a bit. "Now," he began.

Sarah's stunned expression faded and a she sighed hopelessly as she looked away to the right, grasping her sweaty palms nervously. "It…It's just too sudden…" a hand went to cup her face. Alfred lowered his head as though a brick had stuck him in the head and he groaned lightly before quickly bowing down on one knee.

"Are you going to make me go down on my knees?" He asked pleadingly. He was being persistent, that was for sure. Sarah was now mentally panicking as she swallowed.

"W-What?" she laughed nervously.

"Are you going to make me confess my undying love for you now?"

"What are…" Alfred grabbed both of her hands and held them tightly within his grasp.

"Forgive me for the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Ms. Rogers, but it cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past," he paused to take a breath. "The friendship I have felt for you has ripened into a deeper feeling. A feeling more beautiful, more pure…more sacred…" he paused again and raised an eyebrow with a small crooked smirk as he watched her bewildered and blushed face as she had her head turned away from him. "Dare I name it? Can it be love?"

"Oh, get up!" she yelled at him before throwing his hands off of her and turning to look at the wall, trying to hide her flushed face. Alfred chuckled lowly as he got up from the floor and nodded his head a bit, about to open his mouth again.

"So you'll come down with me?" he asked eagerly. Sarah sighed.

"Look," she said, looking him in the eye now. "How about you get yourself established down there for about…a few months." Alfred blinked in surprise. "I have no doubt that we'll be moving down there, but these things take time! And I have to pack away everything, too!" she nodded towards the Christmas tree.

Alfred sighed and chuckled lightly under his breath. "Alright," he sighed before kissing her on the forehead. He then raised a finger in the air. "But I'm only giving you a few months."

Sarah laughed. "Fine by me."

* * *

The train rolled in at 1:55. Alfred sighed as he turned back to see the boy standing by his mother with a sullen look on his face. The man looked up to the mother who sighed and looked down at her son. "Steve, he's not leaving for good." It was a wonder why he bothered to walk him to the train station when he looked like he was in such a sour mood…

This only made the boy's eyes water more than they already were. He groaned and refused to look at the uncle as he turned his head and folded his arms against his chest. Alfred sighed and gave a longing look at the boy before he knelled down to his level. "Steve,"

"Just hurry up and go." Was his only reply, desperately trying to blink back tears. "If you're gonna leave, do it already. I don't care. Really, I don't." The uncle grimaced and grabbed the boy's arm and yanked him towards him. "Wha-" The next thing the nine year old knew, he was caught in a tight bear hug from his uncle figure.

"Goodbye isn't forever." The uncle spoke with a solemn tone before leaning back slightly and looking the boy in the eye. "It's just for the next month." He then winked at him and got up and grabbed his suitcase as the final boarding call was given for the train. The boy was too stunned and puzzled to realize that he had forgotten his grief and his mother got a quick peck on the cheek. His uncle then quickly boarded the train, the doors closing behind him.

And as the train rolled by, the nine year old looked up at his mother with a bewildered look on his face. "What does he mean by 'for the next month'?"

Sarah looked up at the newly falling snow flakes. "Well," she sighed, thinking of a way to choose her words. She then looked back down at her son. "Let's just say that we might be moving soon."

The boy looked alarmed. "MOVING?! Where?"

His mother laughed lightly, covering her mouth with a hand. "To Washington D.C., Silly." The boy's eyes widened and he stumbled a bit as his mother tugged him along. "I'll explain it when we get home."


	16. Stranger in a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When we assumed the Soldier, we did not lay aside the Citizen." - George Washington

**_~*~ January 26th, 1930 ~*~_ **

The clock seemed to not be moving fast enough today, and to put it frankly, Alfred F. Jones was no longer on Earth. He was on Cloud Nine, head in the clouds and feet of the ground as his mind drifted off elsewhere. Time seemed to almost completely lose importance to him,  _almost_.

Steve and Sarah were coming down to Washington D.C. today, and he couldn't be happier; Everything was  _perfect_ , after all, he was "engaged" to be married, and soon to be officially recognized as Steve's father. Maybe his job would cut him some more slack… The light brown haired man couldn't help but grumble at this train of thought. "Damn old geezers…"

The door then flew open abruptly, and in came a stack of papers nearly touching the wooden frame of the doorway that threatened to topple over as it swayed in opposite directions, being carried by what seemed to be only a pair of legs at the time. Alfred watched the scene in confusion before the papers landed on his desk with a loud  _THUD!_  Some sheets fluttered to the ground forgotten by both men in the room. The American gulped lightly. Arthur seemed to be going through his man-period this week.

"Why the  _BLOODY_  hell weren't these done  _last WEEK?!"_  the Englishman barked. The caterpillars above his eyes seemed to be thicker than usual. Blue eyes looked back at the fiery green ones staring down at him. Alfred's eye began to twitch.  _Fuck._

He gulped again, which was followed by a nervous laugh. "Wow, those were due last week-"

"DON'T PLAY FUCKIN' DUMB WITH ME, ALFRED." Arthur's hormones must be off the charts.

Well, Alfred had at least won merit for trying, right?

Alfred tried to open his mouth again, but the Englishman cut in. "You have until  _tonight_.  _That's_  it," he bore with gritted teeth before turning on his heel and left the office. The office door then slammed shut and more papers were sent flying into the air. The U.S. Rep could only stare in the wake of the hormonally challenged U.K. Rep before eyeballing the large tower of papers that were at least two heads taller than him when he was sitting down. Ah,  _shit._

He eyed the clock; 11:23 AM. He had until 5:45 to get this done. With a sigh, the man straightened his glasses and leaned back in the seat, grabbing his fountain pen. God help him, he was going to demand a pay raise for this, or better yet, more vacation time. Lord knows he could use it.

* * *

**_~*~ 3:25; TRAINRIDE DOWN TO D.C.~*~_ **

Nine year old Steve until now had never really been on a train ride for  _this_ long. He never knew how  _bored_  a person could get until now, sitting and doing practically  _nothing_  until reaching a stop to get off at. For a few minutes at a time, he would stare out the window and watch the change in scenery as the train passed by. His mother sat quietly in her seat, enjoying a copy of the  **New York Times**  and flipping between the different sections of the paper and the puzzles it had to offer. She would occasionally try to get him involved as well.

"Chess piece?" she would ask.

Steve stared out the window. "King?"

"Hmm, it needs to be six letters."

"Bishop?"

Sarah would then mumble to herself about that possible being the right answer and do the rest on her own. Steve caught her a few times admiring the necklace she wore, fingers gingerly touching it as though any sort of force would break it. She would smile gently before resuming where she left off in some article or whatnot. The boy's blue eyes stayed on her for a moment more before he would look out the window, staring out into open fields with power lines atop tall poles and transformers would be going along, almost in rhythm with the beat of the train against the tracks.

Something then caught his eye. He leaned closer to the glass. A figure in the field was carrying a rifle whose barrel gave a blinding gleam, slowly wading through the field with heavy equipment on him and a round olive colored helmet which gleamed dimly in the sunlight. Steve and the man, who he decided must have been a soldier, were only a hundred or so feet away from each other.

He wasn't really thinking when he reached into the small bag he kept at his feet and pulled out a small notebook with a small pencil and began drawing a small circle towards the top half of the page. Steve wouldn't stop to think, he couldn't, even if he wanted to. His hand moved on its own, eyes moving quickly back and forth between paper and the view outside the window. He began to panic when the man in the distance began to disappear from sight.

He finished his drawing of her though, just as his view of him was completely gone. Steven looked at his handiwork, awed by his own abilities. It wasn't scribbles and heavy strokes and lines that would normally come out of him. There were careful lines, light and precise with blemishes from the hard eraser he tried to use. She looked…as he would put it, almost as good as the original. Steve looked out the window again, not searching for the soldier, but wondering why he looked familiar.

"That's good!"

The boy jumped at his mother's words, thoughts forgotten. "T…Thanks, Mom."

Sarah blinked in confusion. "Something wrong, Honey?"

"No," Steve looked down at his lap before looking out the window again. "I'm alright."

* * *

It was about five in the evening on the car, dinner would be served in a short while, probably a few minutes. Steve sat content, noshing on a small bag of popcorn. His mother had nodded off, still holding onto the newspaper. They were in Virginia at the moment, the tenth state in the country, he remembered. There was nothing really different about the state, except for the fact that it seemed  _quieter_  than the city life he was used to all of these years.

There was barely anyone else in the car besides the boy in his mother. He watched people come and go, studying them, only to probably never see them again. Steve couldn't help but find the new people fascinating, their way of life and culture on display to his scrutiny. Worlds away, Bucky was probably making some sort of ruckus in the alleys behind the apartment complex they used to live in. The nine year old laughed bitterly. Sounds believable…too bad he can't see it himself.

The train's spinning wheels suddenly became louder. The boy looked up to see the train attendant slipping into the car and closing the car door behind her. "Dinner's currently being served." She stated with a blank smile before walking down the aisle and heading out the other car door. Steve watched after her, seeing her disappear behind the door before he lightly nudged his mother.

"Mom."

She groaned lightly, eyes blinking in a sleepy haze.

"Dinner's ready."

"Oh," she blinked her eyes wider now and moved to get up. Steve followed after her, still holding the bag of popcorn that was almost gone now. Even though he had a nosh, he was still pretty hungry. He  _did_  have a long day, after all, which was not ending anytime soon.

* * *

**_~*~ 5:35; WASHINGTON D.C. ~*~_ **

Washington D.C. seemed fast approaching. It would be another fifteen minutes before they reached their stop, and Steve couldn't stop moving around. His legs kept kicking as he sat, hands clasping at each other, and he kept peering out the window for a few seconds once in a while. His mother watched him, chuckling lightly as she read the woman's section over in the newspaper. "Relax, Sport!" she called. The boy turned his head to look at her in surprise. "He'll be at the station when we get there."

Steve smiled at the comforting words before looking out the window again. He hadn't seen his uncle in a whole month, a whole month that went by agonizingly slow for his young mind. The boy reached into his knapsack again and pulled out the notebook from before, flipping it open to the page where he drew the soldier from before. It still shocked him how accurate his drawing had been.

He seemed real; that man in the field, otherwise he wouldn't have seen him, right? Did he hallucinate? Was he dreaming then, maybe even now?

Steve winced as he pinched himself on the arm. He would have to trim his nails when they got to Alfred's house. He ears began to pop as the train entered the underground tunnel. After a while, the spinning wheels of the train then began to slow down. The boy looked out the window again, catching a glimpse of the platform coming into view with dim lights and crowded pedestrians on the awaiting platform outside the car.

Sarah got up and collected her belongings before taking a hold of Steve's hand and heading out the car. The pair stepped over the gap and walked forward to avoid the crowd trying to cram themselves onto the train car. The nine year old's eyes began searching for that familiar face he had wanted to see for the past month, the glasses, the tuft of hair that refused to stay down atop his head…nothing. There was… _nothing_.

"Mom, where's Uncle Al?" he looked up at his mother. She had the same confused look as he had on his face.

"I don't know. Maybe he's running a little late?"

Steve looked back into the crowd and scanned everywhere he could for the tall man.

Alfred wasn't there, and for the first time, Steve felt complete fear eclipse him.

"HEY!" a loud and obnoxious voice boomed.

Steve instinctively looked ahead again. His eyes were searching…searching…they locked onto a tall man running up to them down the stairs at a record-breaking speed.

"Uncle Al! About time you showed up!" That's all Steve greeted the man with before running up to hug him. Alfred returned the hug vigorously, holding him closely to his chest. The man's heart was still beating rapidly.

And it wouldn't come up in conversation now, but later on when Steve became the first successful super soldier, he would hear rumors of a man looking a lot like him possessing the same abilities as him before he underwent the procedure being seen running through Washington D.C. a few times, running at inhumane speeds and possessing vast amounts strength. He would learn later on that the man was his uncle.


	17. Delving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths." -Walt Disney

Steve's eyes scrutinized the comic section of the newspaper before him, seeing old men in suits in an office talking about some man named "Hoover", and whatnot. He frowned, one for not getting what they were talking about, and another for there not being any  _funny_  cartoons in the paper like there were back in Brooklyn. He shifted the paper away from him a little and looked up at his uncle who was sitting on the opposite end of the dining table. Alfred had finished his breakfast consisting of French Toast and bacon, a favorite for him that Sarah frequently made for him, and was now opening the newspaper to glance through the daily dose of news.

"Hey, Uncle Al."

"Hmm?" The man finished a sip of his black coffee and was reading the politics section of the paper, which he never took his eyes off.

The nine year old looked down at the picture again before holding it up for the older man to see. "What are they talking about?"

Alfred looked up from his paper and leaned forward a bit, his stomach touching the brim of the wooden surface. He blinked his blue eyes in surprise before giving a weary smirk and a small, bitter laugh. "Don't worry about it." He mumbled before looking down at the paper.

"So why is it in the paper?" the boy inquired.

Alfred sighed. "You'll get it when you're older."

Steve pouted. "But there's no funny comics in the paper."

The man's eye twitched when he heard the boy whine. Steve  _never_  whined. "Well then," he sighed, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table beside his coffee. "Why don't you draw your own?" he raised an eyebrow with a small playful smirk. The nine year old now had a baffled expression on his face.

"…Wha?"

"Your mother said you're quite the artist for a boy your age." Alfred paused to take another sip of the caffeinated drink. With a quick movement of the wrist, he adjusted his watch and looked at the time, which again made his eye twitch. Before the boy had time to protest to the deal, he grabbed his suit case by his side and made his way to the front door. "You have until I get back today at 9!" The door slammed shut behind him and a moment later, the feint roaring of an engine could be heard slowly fading away. Steve kept blinking at the door before looking at the newspaper again, mind still reeling from what had just transpired.

The boy's mother came in, holding a laundry basket full of sheets. She blinked at the empty seat across from Steve's before looking back at him. "Where did Alfred go?"

Steve turned to face his mother. "He had work this morning."

Sarah's eyebrows came together. "But it's Saturday."

The son just shrugged his shoulders. "They told him yesterday that he had to come in."

"And he didn't tell me anything about it…" The woman's lips formed into a pout before she sighed and went on her way to the laundry room. Steve watched after her for another moment before hopping off of his seat and running down the hall.

The Rogers have been living with the U.S. Rep. for about close to two months. Fair weather occupied the March skies on the Jones estate in Washington D.C. Steve went to school, got the best grades in the class, as to be expected, and Alfred rewarded him every week with either a new toy or some candy, and occasionally two quarters, which he saved. He was hoping to get Lionel Electric Train Set that he would see in the shop windows when his uncle took him into D.C. on occasion.

The house was huge, the boy had to admit that much; three floors with an attic and cellar. Alfred had a billiard room when he had coworkers over from his job every once in a blue moon, such as Arthur, which Steve was beginning to become well acquainted with, and a few other men named Francis, a French man, a Russian man named Ivan, a Chinese man named Yao Wang, and Alfred's brother Matthew, who now lived in Canada and who Steve didn't know existed until the first time he met him back in January.

Alfred had a party to welcome the boy and his mother after leaving Brooklyn. Steve didn't remember much of the night. Tired from his all day train ride, he had fallen asleep on the couch, holding one of the toy soldiers that he had gotten in a set from Arthur. He woke up the next morning in his new room, about the same size as his old one, but bigger and nicer looking, and… _warm_. Steve loved it at his uncle's place. He never wanted to leave the large house he grew to call his home, even though it had it mysteries.

There were rooms, very few, but ones he wasn't allowed in, including the one right by his uncle's study, which he also wasn't allowed in. But the room neighboring the study peaked his interest, seeing as his uncle frequented the room more than he let on.

Steve would wake up occasionally in the middle of the night and see the light on and the door open ajar with his uncle muttering dark words as he moved things around. The boy would watch the shadows dance along on the bare wall of the room for a few long minutes before trying to creep closer. The floor boards, unfortunately, were  _very_  old and would creek with every footstep. He would barely get into his room fast enough to close the door before his uncle would peer out into the hallway.

And so, that was his goal: _To get into that room…and possibly find out some other things about the house._

"Steve! Could you bring down your dirty laundry?" Sarah's voice blown up the boy's train of thought with her loud voice being carried through the quiet air of the large house.

"Y-Yeah!" the blond boy took off up the stairs to his room, seething in his mind. Chores  _always_  got in the way of  _everything!_

* * *

The nine year old paced the hallway by the mystery room for the fifth time now. He couldn't find a spare key anywhere, his mother almost caught him picking the lock on the door about three times now, and there seemed no other way to get in. And it was already 11:30. He started two hours ago, he noted as he stared at the large grandfather clock at the end of the hall.  _YAY._  Steve knew without a doubt that his mother was growing suspicious from his peculiar behavior, raising an eyebrow at an explanation that he would give when she asked what he was doing/up to.

By the stairs, he could hear the distant record player amplify notes from the spinning piece of vinyl of some crooner singer or some orchestral music and faintly hear his mother hum as she worked, a pleasant smile on her face, he would imagine. Unconsciously, Steve's feet carried him into a storage room three doors down from the one by the study. It was unlocked, much to his astonishment, when he gingerly turned the slightly rusted knob. With a quick glance either way, he opened the creaking door.

The room was dimly lit, weak sunlight trailing in through the dust-covered window. For a short moment, Steve entertained himself with the thought of his mother having a fit if she were here right now. His blue eyes took in the room, seeing it for the first time. And just when he thought he had found almost all of the rooms in the large house, another door would appear before him that he had never seen before. The boy closed the door behind him and slowly walked across the dull wooden floor. Crates and boxes draped with white sheets were scattered around the room, along with a large chair and a bookcase that lined the right wall of the room. His eyes trailed upward, seeing dusty leather-bound books stacked on the shelves…and something  _else_  above the shelving.

Blinking his eyes once or twice, Steve wandered into the room a bit more, eyeing a small wooden square above the shelving with a hinge on the upper edge of it…a  _trapdoor_? In  _this_  room? Steve's widened eyes then quickly scanned the room and he ran up to one of the crates, pushing it along the floor toward the bookcase. He didn't waste time climbing on top of the crate and carefully scaling the shelves and undoing the latch that held the trapdoor shut. The tunnel before him was as black as night, dust lining the small crawlspace. Steve reached into his shorts pocket and fished out a lighter that he had gotten a few weeks ago. The small flame flickered and its glow danced on the young boy's features and a few feet in front of him into the duct.

He pushed forward and began to crawl his way down the duct.

* * *

Water from the kitchen sink faucet poured at a steady rate as dishes, plates, bowls, and glasses were being covered in suds and grime and food residue were being rinsed and scrubbed off. Sarah hummed happily along to the song currently playing on the record player as she cleaned the eating-ware.

_All of me  
_ _Why not take all of me?_

The telephone then began to ring. Sarah sighed in annoyance of the cacophony blocking out the pleasant melody that was playing in the background.

"Hello?"

 _"Ms. Rogers?"_  a British accented voice spoke on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Kirkland?" the blonde grabbed with her elbow with her free hand.

_"Please, call me Arthur."_

"Alright, but can I ask for the same courtesy by you calling me 'Sarah'?"

Arthur chuckled on the other end _. "Yes, you can. Is Alfred there?"_

The blonde narrowed her gaze at the ground. "He said he was at work, that he got called in last night."

Pause.  _"I see…Alright, thank you, Sarah. Have a nice day."_

"You too." She hung up the phone and stared at it, crossing her arms before looking down at the floor. Something wasn't sitting well with her. She knew that something was up.

And meanwhile, at the payphone in D.C., Arthur shared the same suspicions. Leaving the payphone booth, he put both hands in his coat and walked down the crowded sidewalk. "Alfred wasn't called in, I would've known." His voice was low as he examined his thoughts, all other noises and sounds of commotion being blocked out of his head. He then stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and watched the red light on the other side of the street. His eyes narrowed unconsciously as he waited with bated breath. "Just what is he up to?"

* * *

"Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Abraham Erskine, the main researcher on the project." One man gestured to the light brown haired man as he eyed the doctor with an impassive gaze as he eyed the salt and peppered man shorter than himself. The doctor offered his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jones." He spoke with a small curve on his lips. Alfred forged the same look on his features before reaching his hand out.

"Likewise."


	18. Rúnda Fola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept." - Carlos Ruiz Zafón

"So, Dr. Erskine," the American Representative sighed, eyeing him from the chair he was sitting against the scientist. "What brought you all the way from Germany?"

The older man chuckled bitterly, looking down at his folded hands that rested on the tabletop before looking back up at the light brown haired man, who was now crossing his arms, blue eyes narrowing. "Science, actually." He sighed. The other man looked at Alfred, who merely raised both brows lightly, still eyeing the German scientist carefully.

"Go on."

The doctor cleared his throat, adjusting the tie he wore before letting another heavy sigh out in the small and dark meeting room, only one light that hung overhead the small oval shape table. "I have something that I think the American Military would be interested in." he spoke. Alfred stared at the scientist. "I'm currently working on something that is revolutionary to the world. A… "Super Soldier" serum, if you will. The American Rep. raised an eyebrow.

Erskine swallowed lightly before continuing. "Things are getting unstable in Germany—"

"Things are also unstable here, Doctor." Alfred held his gaze, not blinking as the icy tone in his voice traveled across the small room. "Now," he paused, leaning forward onto the table. "What is this about a "Super Soldier" serum you were talking about?"

"A serum to make ordinary men like yourself, Mr. Jones."

Alfred's eyes went wide. "Wh—"

Erskine chuckled nervously. "I have connections, Mr. Jones. Out of all of the representatives for the countries of the world," he paused, sighing as he gathered his thoughts. "You are one of the few who has what I'm looking for."

America scoffed. "Then why don't you try Braginski, or Kirklan—" the scientist interrupted him again.

"Mr. Kirkland isn't as young as he used to be; he's past his prime. And Mr. Braginski has a bit of a… _bloody_  past. You have the ideal qualities of a soldier. The American Army is known for being the best in the world for a reason."

Jones grimaced. He had a point. The military of his country was something he took  _pride_  in for a reason. He felt something click in his head. "Then," the representative paused, leaning back in his seat while crossing a leg. "What do you want with  _me?_ " Alfred could hear his heart hammering away in the silent room, the tension growing slowly thicker with each passing second.

"I want a sample of your blood to work off with." The doctor answered unwavering. "And, some funding on the research."

It was a punch to the gut. "My money's spread thin enough as is, Doctor." He ever so lightly  _growled_. Erskine nodded.

"I'm well aware of that. Your officials don't know how to handle money properly—"

"Who my people chose to elect is none of my business,  _Doctor_. My people aren't as smart when it comes to politics, but I love them, nevertheless."

The German scientist stared for a moment before his eyes twinkled with something Alfred didn't know exactly  _what_ for and a small smile broke out on his face. "You've been in the military, I see."

"Every war since 1776." Alfred answered shortly.

Erskine chuckled, leaning forward onto the table. "And you've lost men."

Blue eyes narrowed and were changing into an icy color as they glazed over with a slowly growing anger that bubbled inside of the American representative. He drew a ragged breath before answering, "They were good men." Alfred drew out a long sigh before resting his head against his hands, staring down at the metal table.

_The ones that he held in his arms…_

_The ones that were shot down with wide eyes and mouths hanging open…_

_The ones that came back with severed limbs and missing eyes…or none at all…_

_The ones by the medics begging for it to stop…._

_All of them…_ —

"The serum will be able to increase the healing speed."

Alfred was snapped out of his memories.

Erskine went on, "It'll also make average men twice as strong, like yourself. I need a sample of your blood to pull it off."

The American pursed his lips and looked down at the table again.

"You don't want to lose any more good soldiers, good and honest men…do you?"

Alfred's thoughts automatically went to Steve and when they would play as soldiers together…He took off his suit jacket slowly, regretting every ticking second that went by as he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt sleeve and rolled the material up.

"Make it quick."

* * *

The nine year old landed on his feet with a light  _THUD!_ and looked around the storage room. He was surprised to see it fairly clean with some items hanging out of crates and storage boxes. His lighter only lit up a few inches in front of him, the rest shrouded in a veil of dark grey as dust lingered on some things, and other things looked like they've been recently moved around.

"Wow," the child breathed out in a whisper before coughing a bit and taking a few steps in the room. The floor boards creaked loudly. Steve froze in place, gulping loudly. Though he wasn't much of a prayer, he was praying that no one heard him at that moment!

…Nothing. No one was walking towards the locked door to the storage room. Steve breathed out the air he had been holding in his lungs and continued to walk towards one chest that was slightly open. He closed the lighter and shoved it back into his pocket before gripping the lid of the chest and pushing it up and opening the container with whatever strength he could muster. Once the lid had hit the wall, the boy backed up a step, eyes widening at the contents; a military uniform that had been lazily thrown in, various toy soldiers lying on the floor of the chest, one or two standing up, an old fashioned musket, and…a  _flag_.

Steve's hands slowly reached out for the rifle, mouth hanging open and letting heavy breaths pass through as he stared with wide blue eyes, bringing the rifle closer to him. Gripping the musket with his left hand, he delved his right in to fetch the flag that he had just spotted. Ignoring the dust that tickled his face when he unfolded the fabric, he gazed at the American flag, frowning when he saw thirteen stars in a circle in the blue box in the top left corner.

It was from the Revolutionary war.

Steve grimaced and put the flag back, along with the musket, now looking around at the other boxes, noticing the labels on them.

**"CIVIL WAR"**

**"TRAIL OF TEARS"**

**"SPANISH-AMERICAN"**

**"PRESIDENTS"**

**"49'ERS"**

**"GOLD RUSH"**

The nine year old swallowed heavily, throat suddenly dry. Just…what was his uncle hiding from him…?

* * *

Alfred exited the building, opening his pack of cigarettes that was in his hand and taking one between his teeth to pull it out as he walked through the building door. He stopped on the sidewalk, people passing him by as he fished his hand in to fetch out his lighter. He then turned to his right and saw green eyes stare back at him.

Arthur pushed himself off of the telephone booth, hands in suit pockets, and strolled over towards Alfred as he lit his cancer stick. "What  _are_  you up to, Alfred?" The Brit asked, stopping in front of him, eyes narrowing. Alfred pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, casually sighing out the cloud of smoke and watched it as it was carried away by the air. "You're asking the wrong person, Arthur."

Bushy eyebrows narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Alfred finally looked at the British representative. "Dr. Abraham Erskine's the person you should be asking, not me." He shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets and started strolling down the bustling sidewalk, clutching his coat tighter around him as he felt an oncoming chill. The other man followed him.

"You mean the German scientist?" Alfred could hear the panic cracking at the older man's voice. He didn't reply, inhaling more smoke. "What did  _he_  want?"

They finally stopped at a street corner. Jones took another breath as he took the cancer stick away from his mouth once more, puffing out more smoke as he looked at the overcast sky. "Dunno." He then looked down at Arthur. "Germany's up to something, though." Alfred gave another glance at the sky, seeing some birds fly overhead. "…or they will be."

* * *

Steve turned his head away from  _Emil and the Detectives_  when he heard the front door open. He quickly shut the book and hopped off of his seat in the kitchen, running for the door. He stopped, a few feet from the door to see his uncle slowly trudging in, another man behind him; Arthur Kirkland. "I'm home." Alfred spoke, slowly peeling off of his trench coat and putting his hat on the coat rack. Kirkland proceeded to do the same. Sarah jogged into the room, wiping her wet hands with a towel.

"Welcome…home…" her brown eyes focused on the British man standing in the threshold along with her fiancé. "Oh," she smiled lightly. "I didn't know we were expecting company!"

Alfred nodded curtly. "Nice to see you again, Sarah." He greeted pleasantly.

"Yeah…I'll go get dinner on the table." She whirled around and ran back into the kitchen. Steve looked after his mother before looking back up at his uncle who was approaching him. Alfred placed a firm hand on the boy's head before ruffling the blonde hair lightly, smiling tiredly.

"Why don't you go get that comic you still owe me?" the nephew smiled warily before nodding his head.

"Okay." He then ran back into the kitchen. Alfred looked back at the older man and nodded his head towards the staircase, motioning for him to follow him up the stairs. As Steve came back to the foot of the stairs holding the comic in his hands, he head the study door close quietly and the faint clicking of a lock. He quietly walked up the stairs, hearing the two men talking in the room gradually growing louder as he walked closer, each step slowly with caution.

Alfred sighed, hand still on the doorknob as he turned to look at Arthur, who was sitting down in the seat on the other side of the study desk, eyeing the American intently. "I guess this is the part where I start talking?"

The Brit nodded. The American sighed a bit, feeling like he was a little kid about to get grounded again by his former father. He then made his way around the desk and sat in the seat across from Arthur, leaning out and letting his body unwind slowly and letting the heavy air out of his lungs. "You told me that something didn't seem right with the situation over in Germany. Well," he paused. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the office room filled the silence for a brief moment.

Alfred looked down from the white ceiling to his co-worker. The British representative took the silence as a request to keep talking. "The Weimar Republic is facing pressure from a political party fancying themselves as the "Nazi Party."

"Nazi party?"

Arthur nodded, folding his hands together and crossing his legs, leaning back in the wooden office chair. "They claim that the Weimar Republic is to blame for the country's economic struggles in the country, along with betraying the country."

The American whistled, rocking in his chair slightly. "Those are some pretty big accusations." Kirkland nodded, closing his eyes before opening them once more, heaving out a breath before looking back up. "They've been on our case;  _my_  case, about France's reparations. Francis isn't liking the situation. I thought at first he was being paranoid, but when you mentioned rising tensions in Germany…" Green eyes rose to clash with ocean blue. "Things aren't adding up."

Alfred nodded, looking up at the ceiling once more. "We need to keep an eye on Dr. Erskine. I don't like what he's up to." Arthur noticed the white patch of gaze taped to the other man's inner arm, a dot of scarlet in the center.

"You gave him your blood, didn't you?"

The younger man breathed heavily, his gut instantly turning. "They had two men outside the room that were armed, one of my men was in the room with me, but I think he was there as more of a comfort device than anything…" he looked down at Arthur, giving him a look that paralleled one that he would have given him when he was younger,  _almost_  as to plead for his forgiveness. "What choice did I have? And with his bringing up my military past and whatnot…"

Arthur quietly nodded, looking down at the folded hands that rested in his lap. " _Dinner's ready!"_  Both of them picked up their heads when they heard Sarah's shout. The two men looked at each other before slowly getting up and heading for the door.

"We'll continue this later." Arthur turned to look at Alfred as he walked past him. The American said nothing, but he knew he agreed to it. The door  _CLICKED!_  again and Alfred opened the door. Steve was able to scamper down the stairs quick enough to be unseen by his uncle, who now walked down the hallway with his co-worker as they made their way down to the dining room.


	19. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In every life there is a turning point. A moment so tremendous, so sharp and clear that one feels as if one's been hit in the chest, all the breath knocked out, and one knows, absolutely knows without the merest hint of a shadow of a doubt that one's life will never be the same.”
> 
> ― Julia Quinn, When He Was Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in so long! I've been busy with AP classes and such now that I'm in 11th grade. I've also decided to move things along at a bit of a faster pace so the action doesn't die out completely...Hope you guys don't mind...^^;
> 
> Any feedback would be sweet guys, thanks! =^w^=

Alfred had been reading the newspaper with the bold lettering having something to do with Nazi Germany. His bedside table lamp was dimly lit while the autumn winds lightly blew against the side of the old house. A knock came at the doorway and the man looked up, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose when he saw his thirteen year old adopted son standing there, pursing his lips and knees bent inward as he stood there awkwardly in his slightly baggy pajamas. "Hey, Uncle Al…?"

The man folded the newspaper with a small, growing smile on his face, tossing the parchment lightly to the side as he took his glasses off with a swift movement of his hand and placed them onto the table beside him. Alfred then nodded towards the bed and brought his hand down onto the mattress loudly two or three times. The boy grinned and ran up onto the bed, half-tackling the man already underneath the covers while giggling loudly. The uncle wrapped his arms around the thirteen year old's smaller frame and ruffled the blonde head of hair roughly with his closed fist, all the while the boy grinned and tried to smack the older man in the face.

The representative's light blue eyes quickly caught sight of the clock that sat on the small table beside the bed; 9:00 P.M. He reluctantly sighed before loosening his grip on the young boy. "Shouldn't you be asleep? You have school tomorrow." Steve looked up at the man and shrugged with a small nonchalant smile, propping up the pillows beside his uncle and reclining back onto them.

"Your point?" The blonde boy grinned up at Alfred, who was now playfully frowning. Steve had learned from the best when it comes to being a buster; that much he was sure of. It was times like these that he wished Sarah hadn't left for New York to visit some of her old friends there a few times a year. The look in the boy's eyes would remind him of the teasing demeanor that his wife of four years would occasionally use on him, though not as often as he wanted.

Steve had given Alfred a feeling of pride for some reason. He felt proud of the boy as if he were his own son. And for a split second, he wondered if that was what Arthur felt towards him all those years ago… Another lunge for the man's glasses on Steve's part snapped him back into reality. Alfred was quickly able to dodge the teen's attempt, smacking his hand away and pulling him into another headlock.

"Ack! Uncle Al! Lemme go!"

Alfred chuckled and his grip tightened ever so slightly. "Sorry, what was that? Couldn't hear ya…"

"Hey!" Steve began squirming more and the older man relinquished his hold on the boy's slim frame. The blonde rolled back to look at his uncle, pouting at him lightly before they both broke out laughing after a solid second.

"Want ice cream?"

Steve perked his head up and jumped off the bed. "Race ya!"

Alfred grinned before flinging the sheets off and racing out the room. "Oh, no you don't!" A fit of giggles ensued as the older man caught up with the thirteen year old and picked him up and carried him down the hallway and into the kitchen area where the boy was dropped like a rock into one of the empty seats while Alfred walked over to the fridge and opened the small freezer door, fishing out the small containers of ice cream he had.

The blonde's eyes narrowed when he saw the two small containers in his uncle's hands as he brought them over to the kitchen table, placing one in front of him and one in front of the seat next to the teenager. Steve heard the utensil drawer open and metal clang against each other as the man took out spoons and then closed the drawer with a light shove. The boy looked up at the man as he sat down and began opening the container, pointing at it with an accusing finger. "…Where did you get these from?"

Alfred chuckled at the question, taking the first spoonful of his. "It's a secret." He gave a teasing wink before eating the spoonful of the vanilla flavored dessert. The teen rolled his eyes before following the man's lead and digging in himself. The past four years rolled by with the speed of the train that Steve and his mother came down to Washington D.C. on; it rolled by fast, but the ride seemed to never end, something that was exciting but alarming for the boy.

It was now the year 1934; Monopoly was a popular board game that he and his uncle played…and often yelled at each other to pass the time. Alfred would take him shooting in the backyard on the weekends and sometimes during the week after school when he had off with both of their BB guns, even go out to a shooting range on occasion.

Whenever Duke Ellington was playing in the area, the trio would head to the event, Alfred usually stole Sarah away to the dance floor and twirl her around as if they were partners all their lives. Steve would watch in awe, seeing the two synchronized as closely as they were while the grinning beamed off of them and the laughter came out in loud roars. The young boy concluded that he was happy where he was as he took a second spoonful of ice cream and left the spoon hanging in his mouth, his eyes rolled upwards and staring at the ceiling.

It was the stolen moments like these that made Steve Rogers' life worthwhile, something he realized on October 5th, 1934.

* * *

Sarah came back from her trip on October 7th, 1934 feeling lightheaded, but otherwise happy to be home. Brooklyn had grown as chilly as Washington D.C., forcing her to keep a scarf about her neck whenever she set foot outside. Her suitcase felt heavy, a constant reminder of how much longer she was staying away from home. The train rolled up to a stop, much to slow for the blonde woman's taste, but the wait was necessary as she pushed to exit the crowded car, feeling the evening air nip at the exposed skin of her face and hands the minute she set foot in the outside world.

"… _Mom…MOM_!" Sarah turned her body in a few directions before pausing, the hand on her scarf dropping and a smile stealing its way onto her face. Steve was standing on his tip toes, waving his arm vigorously while Alfred stood next to him, hands in pockets with a small smug smile on his face. The teen didn't wait to start running towards his mother, lightly hugging her when he closed the distance and reached her.

Her laughter was warm, breath coming out in a cloud as her brown eyes met her son's blue. "I missed you too, Steve." It was hard for her to believe that he was up to her arm pit already, still growing tall and thin. Sarah looked up when she heard Alfred's heavy and slow footsteps approach the pair, seeing his arms spread out wide and a smirk on his face.

"What? I don't get a hug now?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed his coat. Alfred laughed as she tugged him closer and gave him a quick peck on the lips, effectively shutting him up. The older man sighed and stood in the middle, arm around Steve and his wife as they left the station and headed home.

* * *

The next morning, Steve woke up on that Sunday with the sun on his face, yawning and stretching lazily as he made his way out of his room and followed the scent of that morning's breakfast; French Toast. The thick and distinct smell of coffee laced with traces of the cologne that Alfred would usually wear whenever he went to work or out into or out of town on a special occasion. The thirteen year old yawned again and scratched the back of his head through messy blonde locks as he took his usual seat at the kitchen table, breakfast being ready any moment now.

"Morning, Sport." Steve looked over to Alfred, who had his head almost buried in the morning newspaper as per usual. The boy raised his eyebrows and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before slumping back into the wooden chair.

"Morning."

"Breakfast is ready!" Sarah chimed in, carrying over two plates of French toast and setting them on the table in front of the two. Alfred finally looked up from the newspaper, smiling widely.

"Thanks, Sarah." He tossed it aside without a care as he picked up his fork and knife and began digging in, stomach grumbling lowly in the background. Steve didn't show much hesitation as he began eating up, pouring syrup in some places with one hand while cutting with the side of his fork with the other. From the kitchen, Sarah laughed at the sight, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, chills going up her spine even with her wool bathrobe on. The woman sighed before shivering lightly and dragging her feet to the laundry room.

The teen looked up for a moment, eyeing his mother and forgetting about his meal for a moment, watching as she clumsily shuffled along the wooden floor in her slippers and into the next room.

"What's wrong?" He looked at Alfred, who had one eyebrow cocked at the younger boy. The blonde shook his head with a hesitant reply.

"Nothing," the word came out in a dull murmur before he began eating again. A loud  _THUD_  came from the laundry room a few seconds later. The two looked at each other before getting up from their seats quickly and walking over to the doorway.

A laundry basket was on the floor, the contents spilled. Sarah leaned against the washer machine, hand over her forehead and the other clutching the machine tightly.

"Mom…are you alright?" Steve dared to ask as he took a step inside the room. His mother gave a weary smile, moving to take a step forward before her face went blank. Two pairs of blue eyes went wide.

She fell forward.

"SARAH!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun! Cliff hanger! :D


	20. Grá

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. From an Irish headstone."
> 
> ― Richard Puz, The Carolinian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, not much of a time gap this time! I apologize for the length of this chapter, but it was emotionally draining to write...;-; This story also has a tumblr and a listing on AO3. just look up libertyandhamburgers for the tumblr blog and my penname or the story title for the AO3 story!
> 
> Any feedback would be sweet guys, thanks! =^w^=

The minutes seemed to crawl by, seconds becoming hours and never seeming to pass as Alfred paced outside of the master bedroom. Steve had gone to bed a few hours ago when the clock chimed at midnight. It had been an half an hour since the doctor finally arrived, coming all the way out from the capitol. Alfred passed the grandfather clock for the fifth time within a one minute period and looked up at it, seeing that the long hand had barely moved at all. The door finally opened and the young man turned on his heels and briskly walked over to the doctor in the doorway.

The older man sighed as he put his stethoscope away into his bag and looked up at the nervous husband. "Your wife," he began with a heavy sigh. "has a severe case of pneumonia. And since she's pregnant, her chances of…"

"Wait," Alfred deadpanned, voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. "She's  _pregnant_!"

The older doctor nodded. "Three to four months in the least." He sighed once more before continuing. "And because of that, her chances of fighting this off have been reduced greatly." He raised a finger and shook it in front of the taller man. "Make sure she stays warm and keep the towel on her forehead moist and make sure she stays hydrated and well-fed. Other than that," the doctor lowered his hand and began putting on his hat. "the only thing we can do is pray. Goodnight, Mr. Jones." The doctor left and gently closed the door behind him, leaving a stunned Alfred F. Jones in his wake.

 _Sarah was…_ pregnant.

With  _their_  child.

If she were not sick, he would have been soaring up to cloud nine and jumping all over the place. His feet dragged him into the dimly lit master bedroom where Sarah was fast asleep, head propped up on various pillows and moist washcloth lying on her forehead.  _Steve would be an older brother_. Alfred lost the ability to walk correctly. He was now staggering along the floor, feet dragging and breathing growing heavy.

_A little girl he could spoil, or a boy that he and Steve could play sports and cowboys and robbers with…._

The country's fists kept clenching and unclenching as he approached the bed, sitting beside his wife and lightly grasping her hand in his. She still felt warm to the touch; her slim hands still had a perfect fit in his large ones. The smoothness of her skin still felt nice against the callouses on his hands.

Alfred reached up and took off his glasses, letting his hand fall to the side as he stared up at the ceiling. He could hear a gentle rain tap against the glass of the windows outside while in the bedroom, Alfred silently cried.

He knew it was ending before it even began.

* * *

A week had passed and Alfred never left the room, if only for a brief instant. Steve would come home to his uncle sitting at his mother's bedside in a chair, reading while he held her hand. Whenever she would wake up, he immediately jumped at hearing her raspy voice, the heavy and painful coughing fits she would have. And much to his pain, they only seemed to get worse as each day progressed. He made her chicken broth soup, wrung out her wash cloth and placed it on her forehead, talked to her when she asked him to…

They both knew it was holding sand in their hands, slipping away even though they tried to stop it. He finds her staring up at him sadly on October 23rd and puts the daily newspaper down, folding it across his bend leg. "Alfred…" her hoarse whisper stabs him in the heart every time, but he pursed his lips and swallowed the grief for now, putting it off for another day when he would need it more. Her hand comes up to his face slowly and touches his cheek as if it were porcelain, the color of her skin at this point. She breathes harshly and grunts in pain, but her eyes never leave his as they become more glass-like by the second.

"I love you," she almost mouths the words. Speaking and talking is too much for her at this point, bedridden and no longer able to eat properly. One fat tear, and then another one from the other eye began gliding down her face in the dim light of the lamp. She clamped her mouth shut and bit her lip, trying to stop herself from sobbing. Alfred kept staring at her, stunned, speechless,  _not yet…_

"I'm pregnant." She finally confessed, looking away from him and letting her hand slide from his face, eyeing the white ceiling above them. "I was hoping it would be a little girl…" Her dull brown eyes met Alfred's watery blue ones. "You would probably spoil her so much, and Steve…" A sob and a heavy and wet cough escaped her lungs and burned them more. "Oh, God…my baby…my baby boy…" Alfred's hand automatically found hers as she rolled onto her side, clutching her body.

"Sarah… _Sarah_ …" his voice was so desperate and the back of his throat kept burning the longer he saw her like this.

"Where is he?"

Her husband froze, staring at her as one tear rolled down his face.

"Where's Steve?"

"He's…at school."

She gave a breath of a bitter laugh. "I'm happy then…He won't remember me in the state that I'm in…"

"Sarah…" Alfred cupped her face gently, wiping one fat tear away with his thumb. Sarah rolled onto her back, her breathing becoming more labored. " _Sarah_ …"

"I'm so glad I met you." Even in the state she was in, Sarah managed to catch him off guard, making him stare at her with bugging eyes and a gaping jaw. "When Joe died…you kept me together…helped sure me up…made me feel  _wanted_  and  _happy_  and, oh…" she sighed weekly, the grip on his hand faltering. It was getting harder to breathe, her limbs feeling heavy as lead.

" _Sarah_. Don't talk like this." He pleaded, voice bouncing off of the walls and throughout the house. "You'll get better. You'll have our little girl." His voice kept growing louder and louder with each sentence. He knew he was losing her. "We'll have our family. We'll grow old—"

" _Is… breá… liom tú…"_ Sarah sighed out the words, a small smile coming across her face as her face fell onto the pillow. Her hand was no longer gripping Alfred's.

Time stopped and Alfred's heart shattered into a million pieces. "Sarah… _SARAH_." He tried shaking her gently, nudging her awake. The tears wouldn't stop flowing from his face. All he could do was hold her, his crying the only noise in the empty house.

* * *

Steve walked down the steps of his school, waiting for Arthur to pick him up once more and drive him back home. He saw the British man standing against the car, staring at him with a face that automatically gave everything away. He dropped his bag, the book bag crashing against the sidewalk pavement. The teen felt his eyes water up as his world came crashing around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah was a fun character. I hated doing this, but on with the story. -sighs- Just reminding you to read the A/N up above the quote!


	21. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "White isn't always light and black isn't always dark." - Habeeb Akande

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't apologize for the wait you people had for me to update uwu; I honestly had no idea how to continue it until recently and I still have schoolwork to finish before I go back on Monday, so yeah... Feedback would be nice please! ^^

October 27th was when the funeral was held, the wake was two days before and only lasted one. Both days had clear skies and a warming sun shining down and mocking Steve with its warmth. Since then, the boy decided that he hated the color black since he had to wear it for about three days straight now. His uncle had been holding him tightly, hugging him when he came to the older man in the middle of the night last night when he couldn’t sleep. His mother’s face still haunted him, her smile made him bawl at the mere thought, and her eyes were now two suns that had set and would never rise again.

Many of his uncle’s co-workers and his mother’s friends showed up at the wake in Brooklyn, men that Steve scarcely saw or knew well enough to smile weakly at. Arthur hugged him, and had been the only one to do so. Matthew patted him on the shoulder; squeezing it reassuringly and Francis praised the boy for being “so strong” as he had put it. Steve was neither of these things. And for the first time that he could remember, neither was his uncle as the tears welded in his eyes and one eventually streamed down his face every now and then.

Alfred was the most quiet he had ever known the man in his entire life. The representative wore a formal suit he had never seen before, a cross pin on his tie that Sarah had bought him one Christmas with American flag cufflinks and a heartbroken look to match _perfectly_. Steve didn’t have to go to school, something that he was grateful for. Finding motivation in the morning to get up was hard enough, even with his uncle bolstering him up and easing the life-threatening clenching his heart would do when his thoughts dwelled on his mother for too long.

They rode in the limo behind the hearse in silence; Alfred with an arm around his adopted son and Steve looking out the window. Fall leaves were drifting gently from the trees, other children were playing on the swings with their parents, and Steve _cried_. Alfred pulled the boy into his side gently and the boy didn’t refuse the country’s warmth. It was all he had now. They were at Cypress Hills in another half an hour. The six men in the hearse carried his mother’s coffin in back of Steve and his uncle. Alfred never let go of his hand, and the boy never wanted him to at the moment. He squeezed the bigger hand surrounding his and it squeezed back.

“ _Joseph Rogers_ ” the gravestone read as they approached it. The grave of his father that he never knew. His mother was joining her first spouse…Steve looked up at his uncle, and Alfred had tears in his eyes once more that he was trying to push back. “ _1895-1920; Beloved Husband. Forever and always._ ”

The priest opened the bible and began his sermon. The coffin was being lowered into the ground by now. Surreal wasn’t what Steve would call this, but he _would_ call it a nightmare. A nightmare was _exactly_ what this was. Something to the side caught his eye and the thirteen year old turned to look. A soldier was staring back at him, rifle in his hands with a short bayonet screwed onto the end of it.

Blood and dirt coated his face, and weariness was glazed over the man’s eyes. His dog tags caught the boy’s eyes as they twinkled in the sunlight. He could barely make out the last name. “Roberts”, “Richards”, “Rogers”, or something of the sort. More soldiers moved past the one, and the hoarse battle cries left their throats as they charged at the invisible enemy up ahead of them. Steve looked away, glancing up at his uncle for a brief moment before looking back.

The soldier was gone.

“In Jesus’ name, we pray.”

“Amen.” Those at the funeral joined in on the single word, the word that barely left the teen’s mouth. He looked around for a certain black haired teen his age, but the heart ache only increased when he didn’t see him. Bucky never showed for the funeral. And in those few days, Steven Rogers realized that heroes didn’t really exist, and happiness never lasted.

* * *

They returned to Washington D.C. the next day. They checked out of the hotel room early in the morning and Steve slept through the train ride, waking up when his uncle nudged him awake. Alfred still held his hand to the station parking lot and finally let go when they got in the car and began driving home. The engine hummed as it always did.  And yet, the air was heavy and made Steve feel like he couldn’t move freely like he used to. Breathing was more of a chore to the two men than anything else.

Sarah was gone and things wouldn’t be the same.

The thirteen year old looked up at the road, seeing a truck heading right for them up ahead of the road. “Hey! Look out!” Steve leaned over and jerked the steering wheel towards himself. The car skirted over to the right side of the road and the other car passed by the two while loudly honking its horn.  Alfred hit the break immediately after, breathing as heavily as his nephew was as he looked down at the boy. He had tears in his eyes as he looked up at the older male. “What was that for?!” He yelled at him, the loudest his voice had gotten in almost a week.

The uncle looked ahead at the road and tightened his grip around the steering wheel. Alfred’s breathing began to regulate once more and he looked at his nephew. The teen let some tears fall when he let the man ruffle his hair lightly, rubbing it reassuringly. Alfred retreated his hand and then started up the car again.

When they got home, Steve bolted out of the car as fast as he could and ran into the house. After pulling out the keys of the ignition, the man followed with hastened steps. “Steve?!” the boy ignored the country, or maybe he didn’t hear him over his thundering steps up the stairway. Alfred ran after him and chased him down the hallway. Steve slammed the door in his face. Silence filled the growing space between them, and finally… _crying_.

Alfred raised his clenched hand to knock on the door. It lingered there, not wanting to move as if it had a mind of his own. The seconds passed by and the boy’s sobs were growing louder. The man pursed his lips and finally let his hand fall back to his side. His feet moved his body sluggishly away from the teen’s bedroom door and down the hall where he sat in his study and locked the door behind him.

The rift between them was just beginning to form.

* * *

Steve did what he knew best and drew. Something. Anything. The first thing that came to his mind.

His mother and her smiling at him warmly as she always would. Bouncing from chore to chore with laughter as the record player would play a quiet song that she would hum along to. Steve’s mother reminded him of a good natured fairy from one of the fairy tales she would read him when he was younger, never giving enough love to him it seemed.

Or maybe a fast pace one where she would tap her foot to the beat while doing five different things at once. Her mother became a skilled dancer that he saw on Broadway once in the city when the three of them went one year to watch a play. She moved with grace and made it look as easy as professional ice skaters do when they glide across the ice on the thin blades of the shoes they wear.

Her eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky. They were bright and radiant. And the darkness vanished around them the second it dared to show itself around her. She had a beauty in his eyes that rivaled the stars of Hollywood Land, or of a fairy tale princess from a faraway kingdom. Steve was too old to believe in childish stories, but it’s what he needed more than ever now.

The pencil glided across the paper in rushed and furiously passionate strokes across the paper. Her face was calling out to him and he was bringing her to life from the unknown grave. Steve kept pursing his lips and hitting his forehead with the pencil’s eraser.

_Think, think, think…_

And just like that, he would be at it again. Sketching as if she would come back, as if his life depended on it. Because it _did_.

Maybe she would come back to him after all; hugging him and kissing him just she normally would. She was finally _there_ on the paper. The smile on her face seemed to bring her to life almost.

 _Almost_.

Almost would never fill the rift in his life. The paper was malleable and crumpled in his hands with ease after he tore it from his sketch book. Steve flung it across the room with the same motion in which he would play “Catch” with his uncle.

His Uncle Alfred. The only person left for him to rely on. The tears bubbled in his eyes once as he curled into a ball on his bed and bit his lip to keep himself from crying. His uncle could die at any time too, now. What if that happened? If he got sick suddenly and died just like she did? If he died in a car crash where his body was sandwiched between the automobiles and they had to pry it out with metal tools and mar his body further, pulling away a chunk of meat of a man he used to love? If another war broke out and he had to be drafted and he died with a gunshot wound to the head? To the heart? Turned into Swiss cheese like Bonnie and Clyde were by the coppers? If…If, _If_ , _If_ , **_IF_**.

Steve’s head was buzzing and full of noise, ringing and aching all in the same and all he could do was clench his skull with his hands and pray it would stop. And while he was at it, what if he already _was_ alone? If his uncle didn’t love him but his _mother_? If he was _used_ to get to her?

Love. He needed love right now. And no one had any to give him. Outside his window, the sun stilled shined brightly and the birds were chirping. A gentle breeze blew along the side of the house. The world was mocking him; mocking _them_ with its cruelty that everything keeps turning while they _stopped_.

Night was day and day was night. Superheroes didn’t exist. Things were _not_ going to get better.

There was no way up from rock bottom. 


	22. Hardest of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Family is not an important thing. It's everything."-tissue box for those who get teary eyed easily-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I take forever and a day to update. My apologies! uwu I've been so busy with school and all I'm playing a game of 'Which things to put off and for how long' :l  
> Anyways, feedback on this chapter will be great, and things are looking up by the end. and for those of you who need tissues, I came well stocked this time! -points to tissue box by the quote-

The weeks and months passed by at an unbearable pace as they crawled along. Holidays came and went by with heart-aching memories in their wake. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s rolled by without much happening, with the exception of Steve wanting to carve his own guts out. He _hated_ the holidays now. And the winter season seemed to reflect that with the frigid air and the mostly cloudy days that passed by slowly in a never ending chain of days, weeks, and months. They had a record of ten major snow storms in the one season so far alone, not to mention surprise storms every now and then. The snow never seemed to melt away. The same could be said for the thirteen year-old’s depression.

Alfred had gotten him something small this year, money instead of a toy. He even offered to take him out shooting with the BB gun. Steve was tempted to sneer at him with contempt, but just nodded quietly and walked back into his room and locking the door behind him as usual. Steven Rogers hated life and it in return hated him. That much was a confirmed fact after the rug was pulled out from underneath him. If it weren’t for Alfred’s vigilant surveillance over him to make sure he wouldn’t do anything “stupid”, he would have probably been dead by now.

But what was so wrong about taking one’s own _life_? He would be correcting the mess he made. If he were never born…his mother would still be alive. She would have probably still married Alfred. They would have their own family…all if he was never there.

He was a parasite; sucking the life out of anyone he loved and adored. His mother died, and now if he treated Alfred with kindness and actually showed him how vulnerable he was, his uncle would be next, that much the boy was certain of.

                “ _It should have been me.”_

The words were stuck in the teen’s head, relentlessly becoming a mantra as his depression crawled along into something more sinister than what he ever thought it could be.

                “ _I should have died. Mom didn’t deserve it…_ I _did_.”

Guilt continued to plague his mind as each day passed and he was another twenty four hours away from a happier time, his mother, _all of it_. Alfred was trying, he _knew_ that with every time he checked up on him before going to bed, with every meal that the man made for his lunch at school, his breakfast and dinner before and after, or when they went out, or when Alfred brought him to a therapist in hopes of figuring out what was wrong. And that only made him feel worse about himself.

His father figure was no longer held in that esteem. ‘He didn’t _deserve_ to be as admired as he was’, Steve kept telling himself. The boy had refrained from showing as much affection as possible and called the man “Alfred” instead. Ever since they buried the body and went home. And ever since then, Alfred had to watch his adopted son wither away slowly into a pale, skinny, and frail child that he and Sarah never wanted him to become.

He wouldn’t eat.

He slept constantly.

His grades were plummeting. Hell, he was even failing most of his classes except for art, English and history.

He was going straight home and isolating himself from his friends.

Words from him were scare and few, if any were uttered.

His asthma was coming back more frequently.

He looked deathly pale.

He kept getting sick.

Then again, he wasn’t eating much either. He was also working constantly, whenever he could. He didn’t want to come home anymore now that Sarah was—

_Sarah…_

Alfred held the book he was reading with trembling hands as he stared at the pages blankly. The words were beginning to blur as his eyes stung. The country sucked in a greedy breath through gritted teeth as he looked up at the ceiling. He slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the table by the chair before reclining in his seat.

America took off his glasses and let his arm drop to his side, fingers loosely wrapped around the temple. His lungs burned as he breathed out loudly. He shut his eyes, but the tears raced down his face anyway, leaving him just like Sarah did; in a flash. It was times like these when he would look back at all of his hardships and give himself a mental pep talk.

But not this time. Pep talks only got one so far, after all.

Even though he was a country and he couldn’t die, he _thought_ he had a chance at life. Sure, he had fallen in love before, but…it was _different. Sarah_ was different. She was more radiant, more kind, more of _everything_ he needed. Her smile lit up the room. It made him forget whatever happened that annoyed him at work for the day. It was something that he looked forward to. And her eyes sparkled whenever she saw him come home. She would rush to the door and peck him on the lips before helping him take his coat off on most days and then ask him how his day was. Steve would be either doing homework or playing with his deck of cards or his toys. And he would run to him and hug him as tight as the muscles in his smaller body would allow.

And she was _pregnant_ when she died…and their unborn child went with her. Something from the both of them that was never going to exist. And now Steve wouldn’t even talk to him, let alone look him in the eye.  

Alfred choked on a breath as he rubbed his hand down the front of his face. His grief continued to crawl down his face.

And Steve…Steve was the family he never had until now. He relieved his childhood through _him_. And all of the things Arthur did and said to him finally made _sense_ after all of this time. He had a family. And then his picture perfect life became shattered, destroyed within a breath, a second. Steve _hated_ him now. Alfred hated himself now.

The man heaved out a bitter laugh as he bit his lip and tried to bottle it up again. Maybe they could agree on at least _that_. He wiped his face with the back of his arm and out his glasses back on as he looked up at the grandfather clock in the study. It was eleven after seven already. Damn, how long had he been in there, anyway? Alfred sighed mournfully as he moved to stand. As he walked out of his study, the darkness of the hallway greeted his eyes.

As well as muffled sobbing. There was a light on at the end of the hallway that was escaping through the crack of Steve’s bedroom door. Alfred swallowed loudly as he crept to the slightly opened door and knocked on it with his knuckles.

“Hey, Kiddo! You in there?” he feigned excitement as he pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. Scraps of crumpled paper littered the floor. The trash can was overfilled with the same paper, all crumpled with pencil marks on it. The teen sat on his bed, water coming out of his eyes nonstop as he drew in his almost empty sketch pad with pursed lips and droplets that dotted the pages here and there. The lines and circles he created scratched against the paper in a most unpleasant way as scratching rivaled fingernails on a blackboard.

“Not good enough!” he would keep yelling at himself. “She wouldn’t like it! It needs to be better!”

                Alfred kept watching for a moment, unsure of what to say, if anything at all. “Steve,” he finally choked out.

                He didn’t hear him. The pencil continued to furiously scratch the paper.

                “Steve,” he said again.

                “No! It’s not good enough!” The pencil became louder, as well as his crying. “I’m sorry, Mama.” The boy blubbered out. Snot was dripping from his nose and bitter tears from his eyes. He heard him. He knew he heard him.

                “ _STEVE_!”

                The boy froze. The sketch pad fell to the floor, followed by the pencil. Steve’s body was quaking as he sat on the mattress, shaking too much as he looked up at the older man. “You hate me,” he spoke quietly. “You hate me, don’t you.”

                Alfred shook his head and took a step closer. “St—”

                Steve covered his ears and began screaming. “It’s all my fault! I should have gotten pneumonia, not her! She shouldn’t have died! I should’ve! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!”

                And that was the last straw. Alfred marched over, grabbed the boy harshly by his forearm, and yanked the boy off of the bed. Steve collided with the older man’s chest. He could hear his uncle’s heartbeat through his crying. That only made him lament even more.

“No, it’s not, Kiddo.” Alfred spoke quietly, his hand stroking the boy’s head lightly like he used to. It’s the first time he’s touched his son in _months_. “It’s not.”

Steve didn’t look up at him, just kept his face buried in the man’s chest as he held him.

“I miss her too. Probably just as much as you do.” Alfred’s voice began cracking as he looked up at the ceiling. Something wet and shiny began trickling down the side of his face. “But you’re all I got now.” He pursed his lips and the grip on the boy’s frail body tightened subconsciously. “You’re all I have left. How do you think I would feel if something happened to you now, huh?”

Steve’s sobs stopped as he finally looked up at his uncle. “What will I have left?” he heard him ask. Steve turned to look out the window and saw snow gently falling on the other side of the glass.

He held his uncle tighter. It’s was the only thing he could think of to do.

Alfred hugged him tighter and bend down to place a chaste kiss on the top of the boy’s head.

“I love you, Kiddo.”

Steve smiled bitterly before burying his head back into Alfred’s chest. “Yeah,” he replied. “Me too.”

* * *

Alfred let Steve stay home the next day. He took off from work and declared it was a “family emergency” that the two get to know each other again.

“America, you bloody git! At least call it in _before_ midnight!”

Alfred laughed nervously and then looked at Steve sitting at the kitchen table as he ate his French toast. “Sorry, Arthur. I’ll try to think of your sleeping habits the next time around.”

The British man on the other end of the line sighed heavily. Alfred was thinking of hanging up when he spoke up again. “How is he?”

“He…” Alfred picked his next choice words carefully. “He’s doing better.” The American’s lips twitched at the corners. “I’ll probably be working shorter hours so I can be home before he gets out from school.” Steve turned to look at him, a shy smile growing on his face as he waved to the older man.

Alfred grinned and waved back before adjusting his glasses and turning his attention back to the British representative. “That’s good,” he heard Arthur say.

“Yeah…”

“Well, best not keep the boy waiting!”

“Will do. Later.” Alfred hung up and then strolled back over to the table and sat down. Steve looked up at him and smiled brightly.

“Can we go ice skating this weekend?” the teen asked.

Alfred stared at him for a good moment, blinking with doe wide eyes and a slackened jaw. The uncle then grinned and took a large mouthful of French toast into his mouth and began chewing it.

“Yeah…” he spoke between bites. “Sure. I don’t see why we couldn’t.” 


	23. Bye...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You get use to someone—start to like them, even—and they leave. In the end, everyone leaves." - Rachel Ward

"Things are growing tense in Europe," Arthur began in order to shift the conversation away from Steve. Alfred nodded wordlessly.

"Yeah, the Nazi's recently gained the majority, didn't they?" the American spoke up. His counterpart nodded his head efficiently, feeding himself a fork with salad stabbed through its metal prongs.

"Germany's been cooking up something for a while. I fear that it may lead to something rather unfortunate if the other European nations do not recognize the threat in time."

"You think Nazi Germany is that lethal?"

"Did you not hear about Kristallnacht?" Arthur's German accent was still  _dreadful_  to listen to, even after all of these years. It injected some humor into the situation, but not enough for Alfred to shake his contempt for having to meet up with Arthur  _again_  this week.

Alfred remained silent and looked down at the steak he had stopped cutting into smaller pieces. "We're having our own troubles here, Arthur," the American spoke up. "FDR's trying, but the people are tired of starving. And I don't blame them. They want their lives back. They want to grow and prosper without having to worry about where their next meals are coming from."

"It's a similar situation in England, Al. We're all trying to get by."

Alfred groaned and let his head slump against his palm. "I just want what's best for my boy."

England sighed and nodded his head empathetically.

"Speaking of which," Arthur began with a hinting tone. Alfred narrowed his eyes and looked at the older man quizzically. The next words England spoke made America want to  _murder_  him. "You'll have to tell him one day, America."

Alfred stiffened and looked up across the table at the older country, his eyes beginning to narrow into a menacing glare.

Back to this shit again.

He and his nephew were having issues with each other, understandably so that the young man's birthday was just around the corner. Steve seemed agitated by something; he wouldn't let Alfred get too close to him after New Year's, which was about seven months ago. But the  _last_  thing he needed was  _Arthur_  of all people telling him how to be a parent, a  _good_  one at that.

He bit his tongue and fed himself another bite of the steak he was eating. Arthur stared at him bluntly, as if the younger man's reaction was to be expected. It appeared that he still had much growing up to do after all. England looked down at his salad and fed himself another bite with his salad fork quietly.

"It'll only hurt him when he's in his thirties or forties," the Brit continued. "or on his deathbed and you're still as young as the day he met—"

He was cut off by the sound of utensils colliding against the ceramic plates, as well as some other people sitting a few feet away from the two men. Arthur looked up and was met with an ice cold look on his former adopted son's face that he rarely ever saw since the Revolutionary War. Alfred's lower lip slid over the teeth on his lower jaw and he blinked a few times. The exhaling from his lungs was that of an angry animal just  _dying_ to attack. Anymore and Alfred  _might_  just give into the temptation of breaking the man's jaw with his bare hands.

"We're done, Arthur." He growled out and quickly jumped up from his chair before storming out of the restaurant. He walked with a brisk pace of a man needing to get something done, a man in the military, a cop, or any other man in a profession where urgency was a regular thing. The door to the restaurant was nearly ripped off of its hinges as Alfred swiftly and violently made his exit. He was ten feet away from the bloody place when he heard someone running after him.

"ALFRED!"

The American Representative came to an involuntary stop, making the same face he did before as he slowly looked over his shoulder and turned to look down at the shorter country.

"You can't play the hero forever," Arthur panted out as he clutched his knees and tried to catch his breath. "Trust me, I know. Steve's anxiety and illnesses…they're becoming too taxing on you!" Alfred marched away without uttering a word in reply. "He  _will_  find out one day, Alfred! You can't deny the inevitable!"

The Englishman pursed his lips and stared down at the ground. Maybe he should have waited until after Steve's sixteenth birthday to discuss this.

* * *

 

The house phone rang and Steve picked up the receiver with a jerky reaction. "H-Hello?"

" _Steve, it's me,_ " The other voice replied.

The blonde sighed in relief. "Bucky…"

" _Yeah, so I got your last letter…how are things down there?_ " Bucky spoke up after a brief pause.

Steve grasped the bottom of the receiver with his other hand and pushed the device close to his ear. "Lonely," he replied weakly. "I miss you a lot. The kids down here…they've never been too kind to me." The bruises on his knuckles and arms as well as the black eye and split lip he sported were enough evidence to dispel anyone who would say otherwise.

_"_ Still? _Geez, Rogers. What the Hell is going on down there?_ " Bucky scoffed.

The other teen blinked back his tears with a small smile as he leaned against the wall. "I've been thinking of going back…" he mumbled in a shy voice.

_"Going where?_ "

Steve toyed with the phone's chord and pushed himself off of the wall before speaking up again, "Back to Brooklyn."

There was silence on the line.

_"Is your uncle okay with this?"_  Bucky finally spoke up again.

Rogers shrugged. "I think he'd be better off without me. I do nothing but tie up most of his free time with doctor appointments, trouble at school, and my lousy grades…" A few guilt gems streamed down the teen's face as he took a sigh. "I think it would be for the best if I disappeared from his life," he spoke with a voice that cracked.

It was a few agonizing seconds before the other boy spoke up on the opposite end.  _"You know I'm with you 'till the end of the line, right?"_

Steve laughed pitifully and covered his mouth with a hand, wiping the tears off of his face before replying, "Y-Yeah. I know you are, Bucky."

" _Listen,_ " Bucky let out a shaky breath from his end of the line. " _Whatever choice you make, I'll support you on it. I know there isn't much I can do…"_

Steve scoffed lightly and wore a weary smile. "You've done more for me than most people have."

" _But if there's_ anything  _I can do, let me know. And I_ mean _it, Rogers,_ " the boy chided. The other nodded his head quietly as he mulled over some thoughts in his head while looking up at the picture of himself and his uncle atop the fireplace mantle; it was taken last year after Steve won an art competition. They both seemed so happy…

_"Steve…_ "

"I'm still here, James," The teen spoke up with a shaky breath after snapping back to reality.

_"Look, I know you care for the man,_ a lot _. But you've been mentioning this since last Christmas…I think it's high time you acted on it."_

It was a risky move. Steve was aware of his uncle's connections to the Federal Government and to law enforcement, as well as to the military. There was no telling what Alfred would do to him.

"Alright," Rogers finally spoke up. "I'll do it."

" _Tonight?!_ "

He was hesitant for a moment before answering Bucky. "Yeah."

* * *

 

Steve rifled through every draw, dresser, box, bottle, and container in his room; he poured out the loose change and dollar bills into a big pile in the middle of his room. Thirty one cents quickly grew to seventy three, and then to a dollar twenty five, and then to almost ten dollars in change from just one small bank he had been depositing money into over the years of living in his uncle's house in Washington D.C. At the end of counting all the money he burrowed away, he had twenty two dollars and fifty cents.

He still knew Brooklyn like the back of his hand, had longed to see the dirty grime on the side of the brick walls and smell the smoke that flooded the air from the factory districts from eight in the morning to seven at night. But he kept a map, just in case. Things could've changed in the four or five years he had been absent from his hometown where he was born and bred.

Steven Rogers was never a Washington D.C. kid; always a Brooklyn one, by heart, blood, and mindset.

He picked up the small pocket knife Alfred had gotten him, letting his thumb run over the metal acorn symbol that was glued onto the smooth wooden surface. He took it with him everywhere he went, so he shoved it into his pants pocket and looked around on the nightstand by his bed for more items to pick up.

Beside the dim lamp whose light was slowly dying was a copy of  _The Sword in the Stone_. Steve smiled nostalgically and picked it up, hands running over the rough canvas of the book's cover. He must have read it at least ten times since he had gotten it for his fifteenth birthday. He and Arthur were a lot alike in many ways; maybe one day he would be a hero like him. He found his sketch pad and threw it into his pack. He looked up, eyeing his surroundings one final time.

It dawned on him that this would be the last time he would ever be in this room. He smiled gently, flicked off the lights, and closed the door gently with a  _CLICK_. As he trudged down the hallways and corridors of the house, he silently bid adieu to each room which he had become very familiar with.  _Especially_  Alfred's study when the man wasn't home. The door was left ajar this morning since Alfred was in a rush to leave the house this morning, finally realizing that he was running late.

Steve entered the room cautiously, seeing that the desk lamp was still running from this morning. The teen plopped down in Alfred's desk chair and rummaged through the drawers until he came upon the man's stationary. Sifting through some more drawers and clutter, Steve found on of his uncle's fountain pens. He screwed the cap off and eyed the blank paper for a moment. His hand seemed to move on its own.

He wrote with a steady hand upon one of his uncle's blank papers of his stationary set. "Alfred F. Jones" was printed in bold letters at the top of the paper, followed by his occupation. For what he was about to do, Steve was surprised at how clear his conscious was. Maybe the God above was lending him a helping hand, like he was raised to believe. The Almighty Lord and Savior helping  _him_.

Steve scoffed lightly but continued writing his cursive. Where was he when his mother was on her death bed, pregnant with his little brother or sister? Where was he when his father had died? Where was he now during the Great Depression as people were now calling it?

Steve folded the paper and snugly pushed it into an envelope before tucking the flap into the envelope. He left the room the same manner as he had entered it, eyeing it one final time before gently closing the door behind him. The teen couldn't understand why his feet were heavy as he strolled down the stairs. It was like his body was moving on its own; his mind was already in Brooklyn, or it at least felt that way.

He placed the letter on the sofa table by the front door. The teenager picked up his worn shepherds cap and slowly raised his head to look back at the letter. He placed the cap on his head, slung the knapsack over his shoulder, and then left the house without a glance backwards.

* * *

 

Alfred rushed through the front door around eleven thirty, carrying his briefcase in one hand and a large present under his other arm. The country kicked the door open with a grin plastered on his face at the thought of Steve seeing the gift that he was getting for his sixteenth; his own .22 caliber cowboy rifle.

"HEY! BUDDY! WHERE YOU AT?" the man hollered through the dark house. "Sorry I'm late! I had to get you something!" He turned on the lamp on the sofa table and proceeded to remove his suit jacket and fling it on one of the leather chairs in the living room before proceeding into the den where the teen usually resided; either playing cards, drawing, or reading. He was nowhere to be found in the den.

"Steve?" he asked aloud again. The fire was going in the den and everything was they was he left it when he rushed out the door to work. "Hm," he thought aloud, undoing his tie and tossing it on top of his suit jacket. "Maybe he went to bed early?"

"Steve! Where are ya, kid?!" Alfred yelled louder this time as he approached the teen's bedroom. He knocked three times and wait a minute for the boy to answer the door. But he  _didn't_.

So he knocked again. "Hey, Steve?" He rapped on the door louder this time. "You in there?" He opened the door and was greeted with a cold and looming blackness inside the boy's bedroom. Alfred flicked the switch and saw the room was barren. The man's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. "Steve…"

"STEVE!" Alfred began frantically running around the house, searching room after room and running up and down the stairs, calling the teen's name. "STEVE!  _STEVE!_  THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"

He circled back to the front of the house, nearly tripping over his briefcase as he ran past the sofa table again. His heart stopped dead in its tracks as he slowly took a few paces backwards to spot whatever caught his eye when he passed it. He saw an envelope addressed to "Uncle Alfred".

America's heart sank down into his gut as he reached out for the letter with trembling hands. Every horrible memory and every mistake he ever made hit him all at once as he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

_Uncle Alfred,_

_Forgive me for the abrupt nature of this letter, but what has been done had a long time coming, as well as what I am about to say:_

_Please don't come looking for me. Wherever I have gone, I go there because I belong there. I have never felt at home in Washington D.C. It just didn't feel right, especially after Mom died. I hope you can forgive me. I felt like I had no choice._

_And please don't blame yourself. You've been…everything I could've ever asked for. You stitched be back together after all we've been through. You never left my side, even when I was at my worst most of the time. You stood by me and taught me what it meant to stand on your own and not bow down to oppression. You selflessly spent nights consoling me after I awoke from a bad dream, even when you had work early in the morning. You dragged me out of the house and played catch with me at two in the morning, where we could just talk about anything we wanted to. You were like the brother I never had growing up. And I never realized how well I had it until now, writing down the reasons why I love you…and the reasons why I should go._

_I'm sorry for being a blight on your life. You never hung out with your friends anymore; you just took care of me. I was being so selfish, but you didn't seem to mind. I couldn't deal with ruining your life anymore; soiling it with my selfish wants and needs and relying on you to the point where you can't even function properly._

_I can't take back what I've done to you, but I can prevent myself from ruining your future._

_I hope one day you can learn to forgive me, and possibly thank me for what I've done._

_All the best. I will always love you._

_Sincerely,_

_Steven Rogers_

The letter fell from the country's hands and silently drifted to the ground. Alfred stared at the space where he held the letter between his fingers, his eyesight growing blurrier by the second. This wasn't happening, was it?

_No, it couldn't be…It couldn't…_

Alfred sank onto his knees and braced his hands on the floor. His glasses fell off of his face and clattered onto the floor.

_He didn't just leave like that. He couldn't- why?_

"DAMN IT!" America screamed and slammed his fist against the wooden floor. His fist created a dent in the floor and made the floorboards splinter up around the crater. He didn't care that his hand was bleeding; he couldn't even feel the blood trickle down his knuckles.

So this is what England felt when he surrendered during the American Revolution.

* * *

 

Steve hopped off of the train at ten in the morning, nearly falling onto the platform's concrete floor. He couldn't sleep a wink. The teen gripped the knapsack's strap that was over his shoulder, trying to bring himself to reality. He stumbled and swayed before crashing onto his knees.

He couldn't find a reason to get up until a hand came to rest on his shoulder. The teen turned his head to see a familiar pair of brown eyes smiling at him. "Bucky," he groaned and rested his head against James' arm.

"It's alright, Steve. You know I'm with you 'till the end of the line."

Steve smiled tiredly, feeling his eyes water up. "…Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think before you throw tomatoes at me, let me apologize and blame school for the EXTREMELY late update. I did however promise some of my readers that I would be updating over the Christmas break, so Merry Christmas! (You may need a box of tissues though. I did...) So review and let me know what you guys think! With the conclusion of this chapter, we now head into Steve's transformation arc! Are you guys pumped? You should be. You've been nagging me since I've been writing this :'D
> 
> ON A SIDE NOTE: Listening to the Brothers dedicated playlist I made may help set the mood better. 8 tracks.com/chocolafied/i-knew-him-once


	24. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival." - Aristotle

The phone call they were expecting never came. Every day, Steve would watch the telephone after getting home from school with Bucky, even asking Mrs. Barnes if anyone called and asked for him. The answer was the same every day. Bucky didn't ask and Steve didn't tell him who he was waiting for a call from, although it was obviously clear. As time went on, Steve's eyes glued onto the wall phone less and less and some days he completely forgot about the ringing he was expecting. On the quiet weekends, however, it was all he stared it as he took a break from reading a novel or sketching some cartoon characters. During the winters by the fireside Steve would huddle in a blanket Bucky gave him and watch the flames in almost complete silence.

The wind would howl loudly outside with car horns honking their usual cacophony and the chatter of pedestrians would flow in one ear and out the other as he remembered the heroic stories Alfred used to tell him. He would sit on his uncle's knee when he was younger and listen as the man unwove tales that weren't mentioned in the history textbooks, or stories that few people knew about, if at all. It would be the Indians versus the Cowboys and how the Wild West was won, how the Patriots overthrew a monarch three thousand miles away. And through every story that Steve listened to for as long as he could remember, Alfred's eyes twinkled with a fondness and almost nostalgic look on his face as he told his tales by the fireside with Steve always within arms reach of him. The boy grew to think that his uncle was almost like the living incarnation of the American spirit and dream.

During the first month and a half of living with Bucky, Steve barely spoke and spent most of his time sulking around the Barnes' abode. His sketches were one of the few ways he communicated, reflecting the boy's depression. Bucky asked him one night before dinner if he ever wanted to go back and Steve shook his head silently and continued to sketch away. He still hung onto that one sketch of the soldier he saw in the field, how his face looked worn but alert, a menacing figure despite the grime and dried blood that covered his skin and the fabric of his uniform. On some days it was all he drew - revisioning and revising something so many times to make it look almost lifelike. Bucky found one of his best sketches one day crumpled up beside the rubbish bin. The soldier looked almost identical to him, just a little bit older.

A check came for several hundred dollars every month addressed to a "Steven Grant Jones" from a "Mr. Jones". The boy took the money silently and cashed it into his bank account, the one that Alfred had helped him set up a few years back. He told Bucky that the money was for when he set out on his own in two or three years; he would find a steady job and get a small apartment somewhere.

Steve began to get ill frequently again. Pneumonia, several colds, bronchitis, the flu - he seemed to get sick every time someone batted an eye at him. Five out of the seven days of the week he was sick and bedridden. Bucky spent the better part of the two years Steve stayed with him taking care of him and nursing him back to health. And much to his guilt, he was feeding off of the Barnes' weekly food supply and occupying their space. As soon as he turned eighteen on the Fourth of July in 1938, he moved out and spent the holiday packing up and moving into his new apartment.

Bucky dropped him off, gave him a tight hug, and told him to ask if he needed anything. Steve didn't plan on asking for favors, but said thanks anyway. Bucky stopped him and pulled his frail body into a tight hug. "It's okay. You don't have to be on your own," he said. Steve swallowed harshly and slowly raised his arms. "'Cause I'll be there with you 'till the end of the line." At hearing the words, Steve's breathing became harsh as he hugged Bucky back tighter. He silently nodded his thanks and pulled away before his eyes began to sting.

He put the small suitcase down by the door after Bucky had left and looked around the apartment. It was a lot similar to the one he had grown up in, only smaller and more cramped in some areas. The room was a bit cold and dark with only a few lights in the place. The fireworks thundered outside with people screaming and cheering outside on the streets. The smell of barbecue and other delicious commodities seeped in through the drafty windows. Tomorrow he would start job hunting, but for now he slumped down onto the couch. The memories he tried to suppress were coming back at him tenfold. He cried for a good few hours.

* * *

Job hunting was harder than Steve thought. Hardly anyone was interested in hiring a lanky eighteen year old who was sickly pale and had barely any muscle on him. After day five, he landed a job scrubbing dishes at a lower end restaurant. The place smelled, wreaked even. Flies buzzed everywhere and drove him insane while some of the grime on the plates seemed to not want to come off no matter how hard he scrubbed. Occasionally he felt a rat crawl over his shoe, the one that the owner of the place thought he killed several times already. Steve fed it crumbs of cheese and other leftovers that he didn't keep for himself after his shift was through. In a lot of ways, the rat was a lot like him - unwanted and yet still alive.

Bucky kept taking him out on double dates, the girl he was partnered up with most of the time excused themselves to the bathroom and didn't come back or they just hung around Bucky's free arm and Steve became the odd third wheel as he followed them throughout the night. Sometimes he just told Bucky he was tired and headed home, which was usually not the case. He just wanted to be important again; he wanted to be important without leeching off of somebody else.

On weekends, he busied himself with the laundry and cooking himself meals that he could eat during the week when he didn't have time to have a good dinner. He would remember seeing his mother humming a tune that was on the radio with a smile on her face when he entered the room and sat by her, chatting away about his day in Preschool or Kindergarten, showing her his latest drawings and talking about the playground bullies that always seemed to be following him like his shadow did. Sarah's cooking was by far more superior to anything Steve concocted in his pitiful excuse of an apartment kitchen. The mold around the stove and sink made his skin crawl no matter how many times he carelessly glanced it the fungus.

Steve remembered his home smelling like freshly baked bread in the apartment he and his mother domesticated before Alfred whisked them away to the urban living of Washington D.C. The sun always seemed to light up the room and whatever air blew in through the open windows was pleasant and welcomed, warming to the touch. He remembered sleeping in a larger bed than he had now, almost curling himself into a ball just so his feet wouldn't dangle off of the edge. His mother would kiss him Goodnight, and she would also kiss the teddy bear Alfred gave him for his third birthday. He named it Matthew before giving it to him and Steven didn't ask why until meeting his Uncle Matthew at his fifth birthday party.

He spent whatever free time he had during the workweek in his apartment, reading and drawing to pass the time. By the time he got to Thursday, the food began to grow stale in the run down fridge he had in his apartment, as well as the milk he had bought two days beforehand. Maybe if he banked more of his scarce income he would be able to get a better apartment somewhere else. His income was that of a miser; he scavenged whenever he could, sometimes skipped meals simply because he didn't feel like eating after a rough day in the city or in the kitchen where he worked. He counted the hours until he got off on Friday and didn't have to return until Monday morning. Saturday and Sunday became his saving grace.

Much to his amazement, Alfred still sent him checks with the same amount despite the situation of the economy. He was tempted to write to him and ask how things were in Washington D.C. However, the riots outside and the chaos going on throughout some areas of the country who were still hurting over the Bonus Army situation a few years back told him it could be less than favorable at the moment. It were times like these that he wished he could ask his uncle for advice. Alfred always knew what the right thing to do was.

The weekends were also when he had time to see the short films in the theaters, catch up with the current events, go to church on Sundays, and finally go visit his mother and father at Green-Wood cemetery. The train ride to the station closest to the cemetery was about an hour and the walk there spanned another. The cold autumn air nipped at the exposed skin of his hands and face. He clutched his oversized coat around his frame as much as he could as he trekked onward to his destination. He passed section by section, fleeting glances at names and dates and the gifts loved ones would leave behind - stones, flowers, wreaths.

It was here that Steve could freely vent his frustrations without feeling like a burden to people; it was here that he cried and longed for days when his mother and Alfred were the two central figures in his life. He would never admit to anyone else that he missed his uncle as the hot tears streamed down his face in succession one after another as he sobbed about how lonely he felt, how Bucky was really the only person there for him now, how facing everything on his own was more frightening than he would like to admit.

With the way he looked now, even Bucky had a hard time connecting Steve to the friend he had when he was younger; his eyes didn't shine as bright and his skin was almost as white as snow. His hair was still its golden brown color, the only sign of health on his body. He looked completely different from the boy in the photograph that he carried in his breast pocket wherever he went, now creased and wrinkled with wear and age.

"Haven't seen you in quite a while," a voice called from behind him. Steve turned around to see Arthur approach him, wearing a black trench coat and a matching fedora. The sky above was overcast with dark gray clouds and a cold breeze blew through the green fields with the slabs of stone matching the sky above.

"Mr. Kirkland," the twenty year old uttered weakly. The blond man smiled grimly at the boy.

"Please," he began in a comforting tone. "Call me Arthur like you did when you were younger." The English man's hand clasped Steve's shoulder firmly. He looked down at the headstone. "Here visiting your parents?" he asked.

Steve answered him with silence and a small nod. Arthur sighed heavily. "I thought I might find you here. I couldn't seem to track you down." He chuckled lightly. "You're very good at hiding."

The young man looked up at him. "But I'm not-"

England gave him a knowing look. "Alfred told me what had happened. All of it. He tried looking for you for months. Called every police bureau in the state. No one had anything to give him. But he had an idea of where you were. So he sent you money, figuring if you wanted to come back to him, you would have."

Steve had begun cry again, not even realizing it at the mention of Alfred's name. "I'm sorry, Steven. I didn't mean to upset you…" Arthur closed his eyes and tried to compose himself before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small business card. He handed it to the teen. "I'll be in my New York office for the remainder of the year. Feel free to drop by and visit if you need anything," he gave a faux-smile.

Steve nodded his head, grasping the card with both hands while still holding the photograph. "Thank you, but I'll be-" when he looked up, Arthur was gone and a cold wind blew by. He looked back at his parents' headstones, swallowing hard in an attempt to relieve himself of the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. It didn't work. He shriveled up in his small coat and left the cemetery without looking back.

* * *

When World War II broke out in Europe in September of 1939, tensions worldwide had become increasingly thick. It was late 1940 now and the Lend-Lease Act was currently being drafted in Congress at the urgency of the president. Alfred gritted his teeth in the conference room and clenched his fists into the biceps of his crossed arms.

"We can't afford to get involved!" one adviser to the president cried out. "We're just starting to get back on our feet! We cannot let the economy tank again!"

"This is a matter of the FREE WORLD! If Hitler takes out England, we won't stand a chance! They were almost slaughtered at Dunkirk!"

Franklin Roosevelt gripped the handles of his wheelchair and grimaced as Alfred paced restlessly back and forth behind him. The country found it harder and harder to breathe. Abraham Erskine drummed his fingers patiently on the long wooden table, glancing to and fro at the shouting men.

"England can handle themselves. The last time we were dragged into an international war we lost a generation!"

"But if we-"

The scientist chose this time to interject. "But if we turn a blind eye, there will be no more future generations to proceed us." The room fell silent as Erskine continued to talk in a gentle but firm voice. "As being one of their former leading scientists, I have seen first hand at the weapons they are creating and the chaos they will bring to everyone. No one is safe as long as the Nazis continue this mad power grab!"

Sitting next to him, Colonel Chester Phillips gestured with his hands and spoke up, "Einstein here is no general, but he has a point. The Germans are blindly following their leader and chances are we're going to be the only ones able to stop them." He glanced at Agent Carter sitting next to him and then eyed the president.

President Roosevelt nodded his head. "Very well," he declared, picking up a pen and signing the piece of paper in front of him. "I'm signing off on Project Rebirth. If things are as bad as you say, I think it's about time I talk to my good friend Winston. Lyndon!" he waved the vice president over and tucked his reading glasses away into his breast pocket. "Gentlemen, Colonel, Doctor, Agent Carter," he nodded at the three respectfully before turning to look at America. "...Alfred," his voice carried a gentle warning that Jones had grown accustomed to. The country nodded his head and let his eyes follow after the president until they left the room. Afterwords, most of the other advisors from both the military and the West Wing gathered their things and departed the conference room.

Alfred trained his eyes on Dr. Erskine. "It's been a long time since you stabbed me with that syringe of yours," he frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Have you made any progress?"

Abraham froze and swallowed hard. "Yes!" he spoke quickly. "Quite a lot...All we need is a test subject."

Phillips walked up next to the scientist with Carter in tow. "We'll look at both men enlisting and possible candidates in the near future. If this war escalates to the degree we're anticipating, a draft might be instated."

"I'm well aware of the situation," Alfred smiled politely, clenching his fists once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to." He abruptly turned on his heel and left the meeting room with a brisk gate before any of the three could open their mouths in retort. This is the price they were going to pay for not listening to Churchill in the first place - another world war with the stakes even higher this time. They were going to pay with the future if things didn't miraculously work out.

And Alfred would never have the chance to see Steven again.

From that day on, Alfred wore his dog tags wherever he went and carried a handgun under his suit jacket. The Nazis tried to cause commotion a few years ago when the economy was at its worst, they would try it again without a doubt.


End file.
